A Dream Within a Dream
by BlindAssassinUK
Summary: Booth struggles to recover from his brain surgery and with Sweets' assessment that his feelings for Bones aren't real. As if this wasn't enough to keep our favourite FBI agent busy, a serial killer comes to town. Mostly written in tandem with Season 5.
1. I Held A Jewel In My Fingers

_**I held a Jewel in my Fingers – Emily Dickinson**_

_I held a Jewel in my fingers --  
And went to sleep --  
The day was warm, and winds were prosy --  
I said "Twill keep" --_

I woke -- and chid my honest fingers,  
The Gem was gone --  
And now, an Amethyst remembrance  
Is all I own --

Booth shifted position on the couch. He cast out his right leg and resting his heel on the carpeted floor, scrunched his toes, then flexed them and then went through the ritual again. The ache that gnawed at the bones and muscles in his foot didn't fully subside but it was enough so that he could concentrate on the game - sort of. The Redskins were down 6 – 9. Scratch that. It was now 6 – 12. He watched the repeated footage of the ball sailing through the uprights and cursed out loud. The score line was almost as painful as his aching foot. Almost.

He thought about calling for a pizza, maybe ordering in some Thai but his cell was out on the kitchen worktop and well, that was just too far to travel. Booth ran his hands through his hair, and pushed back deeper into the couch. He was sore all over. Granted, his feet won first prize in the 'what hurts the most category' but his back and neck were worthy runners up. He closed his eyes. Rebecca used to give the best back massages. Back when they were dating, he'd paid for a series of classes as a birthday gift one year and she'd gotten really good at it. Okay, so maybe the gift wasn't entirely selfless. She'd known that of course. Nevertheless, he'd come home from work, aching and tired, and she would sit him down at the kitchen table and work the muscles in his shoulders and back until the tension ebbed away – all in the name of practice.

The muscle in his cheek twitched slightly as he considered that Captain Fantastic was reaping the benefits of the tuition now. It wasn't a case of jealously, rather a case of money down the drain. Fuck, he was in a bad mood.

In those early days it had all been so easy between them. And then they'd gotten pregnant and pretty soon after nothing helped to ease the tension that took up residence in his body. Booth had never really forgiven himself for breaking things off. Or for letting Rebecca break things off. When the dust had settled it really hadn't been clear who'd ended it. All that mattered was Parker, and it was for his son's sake that Booth still felt guilty for not making it work.

Why the hell was he thinking about Rebecca, about the past? He banged his head a couple of times on the seat cushion behind him, as if that would shake the memory loose.

He needed another beer. Hell, he needed more than one. But the thought of having to get off the couch and walk to the kitchen made him question if he was really all that thirsty. Tiredness rolled over him in waves. He felt beaten and battered by it. His eyes stung. He opened and closed them again. It felt as though there was a gritty film coating his eyes and each time he closed them they scratched against his eyelids. He felt hot, painful tears build up and run into the creases at the corner of each eye. He didn't wait for them to fall. He swiped the back of his hand across each eye and then wiped his hand across his chest; the wetness of his tears darkened his grey t-shirt in places.

He wanted it to be night time already. He just wanted to sleep.

His day had started brightly enough. He'd swung by the Jeffersonian on his way into work to pick up a report from Hodgins about bugs or slime, maybe both – the specific contents of which would always remain a mystery to Booth. This wasn't a bad thing. On his way out he'd run into Bones and confirmed that he'd meet her later for lunch so they could run through their latest case. She was impatient to know some of the details and he'd smiled and said "What did curiosity kill?" She'd looked at him blankly, which made him smile even wider.

The rest of his morning was fairly uneventful. He'd run a couple of training sessions for some of the new agents admitted to the Bureau and finished off about half of the paperwork cluttering up his in-tray. It was the start of what would be a pretty work-light, easy day. Most of his days were easy now. Recently having undergone brain surgery might have had something to do with the significant decrease in his workload.

He ignored the sharp twinge that stabbed at the heel of his foot. His eyes remained closed.

Yep. It had been a pretty run-of-the-mill, everyday, kind of day up until the point he went to see Sweets. The young psychiatrist wanted to know if his feelings for Bones had begun to change.

"Agent Booth, you will find that your feelings of love and sexual desire toward Dr Brennan will wane over time. Personally, I'm a little surprised that you say that nothing has changed since we last spoke."

"So now I'm imagining that I'm imagining I'm in love with Bones?!"

"I didn't say that."

"What are you saying then?"

"I'm saying I'm surprised. But then, I'm not a neurosurgeon. Perhaps it would be wise to organise an earlier referral with your consultant."

"No thanks. I've been pulled and picked over enough recently. I want to know if you think my feelings could be real."

"I think it's not uncommon for false memories, perceptions or beliefs to form as a result of neurological dysfunction. You underwent surgery to the prefrontal cortical region of the brain which can result in confabulation, which is the confusion of imagination with memories."

"So, in short...in plain and simple English: it's not real. I don't love her? You're sticking by that?"

"The belief is that your surgery induced neural activation patterns to depart from direct experience and learned relationships."

"I'm operating on a short fuse here, Sweets!"

"Agent Booth, your feelings aren't real. When your brain heals, the feelings you have will disappear." Sweets couldn't help but shrink back in his chair as the agent stalked around his office. He doubted he'd ever seen the older man so wired. So upset.

"God. I'm so tired. I know this is the last thing you'd expect me to say but maybe I need something to help me out."

"I can certainly set up extra counselling sessions with..."

"I don't want counselling. I want drugs. I want you to give me something that'll make me feel better. I shouted at Parker again yesterday, for no real reason. And today I nearly took the head off some guy who pushed in front of me when I was waiting in line at the diner. It's not me. I don't feel like me."

"If it helps, it's not uncommon for patients to undergo emotional changes after surgery and feel discouraged and tired. "

"No. That doesn't help." Booth said menacingly. Sweets had to force himself to maintain eye contact with the agent.

"I can refer you back to Dr Grant. He may be able to suggest..."

"So you're not going to give me anything. What use are you Sweets? Really, what's the point of you?"

"Agent Booth, I'm sorry that you feel..."

"Save it, Sweets."

"Please sit down. Let me get you a glass of water. Can I get you some water? Please, Agent Booth, sit down." Something in his tone must have dulled the edge of Booth's temper. The agent sat down again and closed his eyes.

Sweets had said something else but Booth wasn't listening. He made out the sound of a glass being placed on the side table next to him. Sweets had stopped talking. Booth tuned into the silence and tried to calm down. He may even have fallen asleep for a short while. The next thing he could remember is Sweets calling his name softly, then more forcefully. His time was up. He bolted for the door. He didn't stop to say goodbye.

He was dimly aware that he'd grown cold sitting there on the couch. But he hadn't the strength to go to bed. The pain in his foot had lessened and now ached in a way which was all too familiar. He should run a bath and soak his feet. _"Get off the couch, Seely. Help yourself. Come on, this isn't like you. You know better. You know that you have to fight."_ He allowed the chill in the room to settle over him. He wouldn't help himself. Or maybe it was because he couldn't. He didn't know his own mind, right? Booth wiped at the tears that again stung his eyes. The salty moisture temporarily warmed the back of his hand. He tried to keep his breathing even, calm.

It was twelve weeks and counting since he'd last seen a cartoon baby. Twelve weeks since she kissed him and told him she was carrying his child. Twelve weeks since he'd made love to her.

Intellectually, Booth knew that these were imaginings, false memories, but they had left their mark. The question was whether those memories had caused him to feel things that weren't really there or whether those feelings had been present, albeit hidden from plain view, before he became sick.

Was it possible that Sweets was right? That his brain was making him feel things that simply weren't there? Was it a lie that he missed her at night and that he reached for her. Was it just fucked-up cerebral trickery that allowed him to remember the way her skin smelled?

Or did Angela's psychic have it right? Did he love Bones? It couldn't be all in his head, right? He was all about instinct and gut feeling, not rational, reasoned, thought. His love of his friends, his unlimited love for Parker and his faith came from his heart. Not his head. He loved Bones with his heart, not his head, right? He found he couldn't separate one memory or one feeling from another. He couldn't count on what was real and what was not. He was lost.

Booth sighed deeply and shivered against the cold. He understood how his heart worked, didn't he? He loved her. He was in love with Bones. He placed his hand over his heart and for the first time in his life wondered if he could trust it.


	2. She Comes Not

_**She Comes Not**__ – Herbert Trench_

She comes not when Noon is on the roses--  
Too bright is Day.  
She comes not to the Soul till it reposes  
From work and play. 

_  
But when Night is on the hills, and the great Voices  
Roll in from Sea,  
By starlight and candle-light and dreamlight  
She comes to me.  
_

Booth stood motionless on the hard, icy-covered, ground and wondered why he couldn't have chosen another profession in life. Sniper, turned FBI agent, it was as if he purposely went looking for death. It was ten below freezing and he could feel the cold air starting to penetrate his woollen overcoat. He should have worn the parka.

In the near distance he could hear her voice. She was ordering people about. The clamour of excited, maybe horrified, voices grew closer. Soon he was swept along in a sea of people. Cops (of which he estimated there were at least ten), paramedics (not that they would be much use now), a county sheriff, a couple of county coroner's (now, they would come in handy), some guys from the local paper and Bones. The tide carried him to the far corner of the football field. He stopped just short of the yellow-taped off area. He didn't want to step any closer to the freshly dug hole. He knew what, or rather who, they would find there: Carrie-Ann Kennedy aged 17 from Carson City, Nevada. Carrie-Ann was a long way from home. And now she'd never make it back.

"The body is female, Caucasian and I'd say aged between 14 to 20 years. I estimate the body has been in the ground for approximately 6 weeks. The temperature of the earth is likely to have slowed the rate of bacterial decomposition. The earth surrounding the body shows signs of Dermaptera and Formicidae habitation. Hodgins can investigate these samples back at the lab. Booth? Booth? Can you take these for me?"

Booth crouched down next to his partner and took a couple of sterile bags from his coat pocket, into which she deposited two vials full of earth. He stood up and then back, away from the hole, as soon as she was done.

"Are you okay, Booth? You seem a little out of it."

"No. I'm good." He lied. "So, is it her?"

"I can't confirm that at this stage."

"But do you think it's her?"

"It could be. Look, there's not much more I can do here. I need to examine the body back at the Jeffersonian."

"Gotcha. So, I'll tell these guys we're all done here."

"Wait. We're going to need to keep the body ice cold during its transportation from Chicago to D.C."

"Sure. The same as always, right?"

"No. I mean really cold. Well below freezing. We need to ensure the body is kept at a similar temperature as the ground here or otherwise the decomposition process will restart and valuable evidence may be lost."

"Right." He said looking around for the sheriff.

"Not quite the reverse would be true of a heat-desiccated mummy, who upon exposure to moisture will start to decompose at a faster rate."

"Oookay. Heat-desiccated mummies. Thanks for that, Bones."

"Huh?" She replied vaguely. He watched as she blew an errant strand of hair away from her face and then began to walk around the inside of the makeshift grave - he supposed checking to see if there was anything she might have missed. Was it wrong that all he could think about was that she looked beautiful? It was. It was wrong. He was some kind of unfeeling demon. At that moment, in Chicago, Mrs Kennedy was sitting by the phone waiting for the call that would make it all better. That call wouldn't happen. It wasn't going to be alright. Sometimes he wondered if anything would ever be alright again.

The flight back to Washington D.C. was delayed and so he left Bones browsing in one of the airport's bookstores and went for a walk around the terminal building. He would rather have stayed with her. Maybe tried to tempt her into having a late night drink with him but he was trying a new tactic, a tactic that involved getting the hell away from her as soon as he could. Granted, it wasn't particularly inspired but it had kept him semi-sane these past few days.

On the outside he behaved as always. He wisecracked with Hodgins, play-flirted with Angela and pretty much ignored whichever intern Bones had working in the lab that week. Although, he had stopped dropping by the Jeffersonian on the off chance that she would be free to talk to him about ongoing cases. Instead he emailed and occasionally he picked up the phone and called her. If she noticed that he wasn't around as much, she hadn't let on. On the inside however, he was just as confused. Just as angry. And, just as hurt. By the day, Sweet's diagnosis was becoming more and more dubious. He still wanted her. Loved her.

He circumnavigated the seating area for about the fourth time and then wandered towards the bar next to the bookshop where he'd left Bones. The place was fairly crowded but he got lucky and found a free seat at the bar. He ordered a double whisky over ice and when his drink arrived he knocked back the burning liquid in two easy gulps. He signalled for the barman to refill his glass but this time he took a little longer to finish his drink. He had to keep his head straight. It was difficult being this close to her, but if he got drunk, it would get a whole lot more difficult. He couldn't be sure that he wouldn't blurt out that he loved her. Actually, that's almost certainly what he would do. He was an idiot.

He'd dodged that bullet once already. It made him cringe when he thought back to that night when he'd told her that he loved in an 'atta girl kind of way'. What was he thinking? She'd looked momentarily scared, or horrified maybe – either way, she returned the sentiment and play-punched him on the shoulder. _"Idiot."_ He murmured under his breath.

"Hey. I've been looking for you." Booth jumped at the sound of her voice behind him.

"Shit! Bones...give a guy some warning, huh."

"Sorry. I didn't realise you were away with the elves."

"It's 'away with the fairies', Bones." Despite the tension that he felt pooling deep in the pit of his stomach, Booth couldn't help but smile. The woman was adorable.

"It is?"

"Yep. So, what'll it be, Bones?" Booth gestured towards the myriad bottles lined up behind the bar.

"Um. What are you drinking?" She replied sliding onto the just-vacated bar stool next to him. He tried not to think about the way her legs seemed to go on for miles or the way her ass looked in her jeans.

"Whisky. The nectar of the Gods."

"The etymology of the term nectar of the Gods refers to the nectar being an immortality drink. This concept is attested in at least two Indo-European areas: Sanskrit and Greek. I'm not sure that the Gods were drinking whisky. Surely, if one wanted to prolong one's life, one would stick to water."

"So, you want me to order you water, straight up?" "No. A whisky will be fine."

Booth sighed; his wisecracking was wasted on her. He watched her intently. Small frown lines of concentration appeared across the bridge of her nose. She clearly wasn't done with the lecture.

"Of course, our ancestors drank Mead in the belief that it would impart the divine gifts of prophecy, poetry and fertility. This was their 'nectar of the Gods'."

Booth smiled at her and wondered if there was a way to move his stool closer to hers, without it appearing obvious. He drank in the way her crisp white shirt pulled a little across her breasts and the way her hair framed the side of her face. Maybe she was his nectar of the Gods. All too aware that his dreamy thoughts were being broadcast on his face, Booth pulled himself together and tried to catch the barman's attention.

They discussed the case as they sat drinking at the bar and soon Booth forgot all about their impending flight. He hoped he wasn't staring too much but it took a herculean effort not to concentrate on her lips and her mouth as she spoke. And he wasn't Hercules. He was a man who was lost and helpless before her.

_I love you. I love you._ _I'm not crazy. I feel it. I love you._ He half-screamed in his head.

Maybe he wasn't the idiot, maybe Sweets was. But then he considered his encounter with the clown. He'd tweaked the guy's rubbery red nose for fuck's sake. Before his surgery, he would have had to fight hard not to smack the stupid thing off his face. So, maybe his brain doctor and Sweets had it right, maybe loving her was a figment of his imagination.

_I think I love you. I think I do._

It was on his third double whisky that the announcement was made advising that they should head to Gate Number 3. Boarding the plane, Bones headed straight for first class while he found his seat in coach. It was probably a good thing that they weren't sitting together and besides, he didn't have the energy to bitch about it. The whisky had dulled his senses and he felt relaxed, calm and suddenly extremely tired. He thought he could make out the sound of the landing gear pulling up into the body of the aircraft but he wouldn't swear to it. As the plane cruised over the tumbling shores of Lake Michigan he drifted off to sleep.

She came to him then. She climbed into bed beside him and took his face in her hands. She moved closer. Her kiss was delicate but promised much more. Deepening the kiss, he sighed into her and willed her to understand what he needed. She moved on top of him, never breaking their kiss, not giving him the chance to catch his breath. As if he could. He sought her hips and held her tight to him and smiled into their kiss as she moaned at the contact.

She only came to him in the dreamlight.


	3. Longing

_**Longing – Matthew Arnold **_

_Come to me in my dreams, and then  
By day I shall be well again.  
For then the night will more than pay  
The hopeless longing of the day._

Come, as thou cam'st a thousand times,  
A messenger from radiant climes,  
And smile on thy new world, and be  
As kind to others as to me.

Or, as thou never cam'st in sooth,  
Come now, and let me dream it truth.  
And part my hair, and kiss my brow,  
And say My love! why sufferest thou?

Come to me in my dreams, and then  
By day I shall be well again.  
For then the night will more than pay  
The hopeless longing of the day.

The discovery of the third body was reported by a local law enforcement officer. The officer's report made it to the FBI building and onto Booth's desk just as he was getting ready to leave for the night.

"You'll want to take a look at this, Agent Booth." The young intelligence analyst said placing the file on the cluttered desk in front of him.

"I will?" Booth said distractedly as he scanned his office for his cell phone.

"Yeah. Um, can I help you with something?"

"What? Oh, no. Sorry, O'Hanlon, I can't find my damn cell, is all."

"I could help you look for it, Agent Booth."

Booth didn't answer as he continued to search his desk. He cursed out loud when a thick pile of papers slipped off the side and carpeted the floor in white. "Damn, I'm gonna be late." He groaned as he knelt down on the floor and tried to re-order the paperwork.

"You have plans this weekend?" O'Hanlon asked conversationally as he too knelt down to help retrieve the papers.

"I have Parker for the weekend. My son. Booth qualified, remembering that O'Hanlon had only been working there about a month. "I'm already running late. So, this file...why will I want to see it?" Booth questioned as he reached out for the remaining few sheets of paper which had drifted underneath the desk itself.

"Another body has been found. White female. Young. "

"Where?"

"Here, in DC. Over at the Gangplank Marina on Water Street."

"Any idea who the vic is?"

"We're crosschecking information provided at the scene against missing person's records now. But, the word is, its Chrissy Drake."

"Christ. Her father was in here yesterday asking for an update on the case. This is gonna kill him."

Booth climbed to his feet and took the file from O'Hanlon. He flipped through its scant contents. By the time the case was over, the file would likely fill a filing cabinet all on its own but for now; the report simply gave the cold, hard, facts. The body of a Caucasian female, estimated at between 14 and 30 years old had been found tied to a wooden piling of a nearby pier – the body was tied part way down the piling, submerged beneath the icy waters of the Potomac River and out of sight of the people walking above. His gut told him that they'd found Chrissy but these days he didn't much trust his intuitive senses and so figured he should reserve judgment.

"So, I'll be working late along with Rios and Bennett and so if you need anything just let us know."

"Sure. Thanks." Booth muttered as he put down the file and opened the top drawer of his desk. After looking and feeling around in the cluttered space for a few seconds, his patience ran out and he pulled out the drawer and slammed down on top of the desk. "What the hell have I done with my phone" he growled.

O'Hanlon sensed that their conversation was at an end and backed out of the room.

Booth really didn't want to make the call to Parker to tell him their plans were off, but he had little choice. The case could break at any time.

"Hey, little man."

"Daddy!"

"Hi. How was school?"

"It was okay, I guess. But lunch time was good. We played football."

"That sounds nice. Listen, Parker....I'm really sorry but I have to work this weekend."

"But you said you'd take me to the park and stuff."

"I know I did and I really hate to let you down but I've got some really important work to do. If Mommy is okay with it, I can see you next weekend instead. I'll pick you up from school and we can hang out the whole weekend. Okay, buddy?"

"I guess."

"I'm sorry, Parker. I really am."

"Is Bones gonna be working too?"

"Yeah."

"Okay then."

"Okay? Because of Bones?"

"Yeah. You have fun when she's there."

"That's true. But you know I'd rather be hanging out with you, Buddy."

"I know. Um...Mommy's waving at me; I think she wants to talk to you."

"Okay. Listen, I love you. Be good for Mommy and I'll see you soon."

"Bye, Daddy."

Booth tensed as he heard Rebecca take up the receiver.

"Seely...you promised that you'd take him this weekend. Parker's been looking forward to seeing you all week."

"Hey, I know that. Don't you think I know that! I want to see him too, okay." Booth matched her irritated tone.

"But..."

"But I have to work. It sucks for me too, you know."

"Seely, it sucks for all of us."

"Ah, so you had plans, too?"

"Yeah. I had plans and now I have to cancel them. You know, I really don't see why someone else can't..."

"Rebecca...let's not do this again, okay. I know you're mad and I understand that but I can't help that I have to work. I'll make it up to Parker and to you. I promise."

Booth sighed wearily as Rebecca hung up. He'd made too many promises like that since Parker was born and he could hardly blame her for being mad. Hell, he was mad at himself. But the job, his job, took precedence over almost everything else. How could it not? There was most likely a serial killer out there and it was his job to take the sicko down. How could he turn his back on that and instead spend the weekend playing football and watching movies with Parker. Sometimes the job came first. It had to.

Booth fell into his chair, his search for his cell momentarily abandoned. His shoulders and neck were pinched tight with tension and his head was beginning to pound. He reached for his desk phone and dialled. He didn't stop to think that this was the first time since his surgery that he'd dialled the number from memory.

"Dr Brennan."

"Bones. It's me. We found another body."

"It was coming up on 5:00a.m. of the next day and Bones had just confirmed that it was likely (of course she wouldn't go on record yet) that they had found the body of the missing teenager, Chrissy Drake. The petite blonde cheerleader had just turned sixteen and had been reported missing by her distraught parents two weeks before.

"This is really a job for Cam at this stage. I can take a look later, once the bones are clean."

"Okay." He nodded, only half listening as he scanned the missing person's report in his hands.

"Her pelvis is broken. I can't be certain right now, but it doesn't appear to be post-mortem."

Now she had his full attention. He looked up from the report. "Carrie-Ann's pelvis was broken too."

"Yes. It was."

"The girl found in Dakota last month, Heather Franks, she had a broken pelvis also. Shit. I have a really bad feeling about this."

"Booth, we aren't in possession of all the facts. There may not be a connection."

"The three vics are about the same age, blonde, petite and all of them suffered broken pelvises."

"I won't make that conjectural leap with you, Booth. I'll be able to tell you more, back at the lab. But for now, that's all I can tell you with any certainty."

Brennan stood up and expertly removed her latex gloves.

"It's gotta be the link, Bones!"

She looked up, her expression inscrutable. Booth sensed their conversation was over. Sometimes it drove him crazy when she insisted on reserving her judgement. Especially in cases like this, when there was a madman or woman out there killing kids. Still, he'd run down the lead – see if there was any record of assaults or homicides involving the victim suffering a broken pelvis.

"I'm not a cop, Booth."

"I know that."

"Then why are you mad at me?"

"I'm not mad at you."

"Yes you are. Your face is slightly flushed and your rate of breathing has increased."

"Bones, I'm not mad, okay."

"Back at the lab we'll be able to tell you if her pelvis was broken before she was put in the water, as a result of a blow or similar, or whether it's more likely that the injury occurred once she was submerged, perhaps after her killer left."

"The sick freak that put her in the water did this to her."

"Or... a boat may have hit her."

"My money's on the freak."

Booth didn't give her a chance to respond. Instead, he turned his back on her and yelled over to one of the tech guys to wrap the body up and arrange its transport back to the Jeffersonian. He sensed that she was watching him, studying him, as he reeled off his instructions. Maybe she was waiting for him to stop so that she could re-start their conversation or maybe she was wondering why he was being such an asshole. He had no desire to hang around and find out. "I'll catch up with you later, Bones...at the lab." He chanced a quick look at her. She looked impassive. That was worse than mad. Great, he thought, all he wanted was to be closer to her but it seemed all he did these days was give her reason to pull further away.

Lying to her, keeping the truth of his heart secret from her was killing him. He walked back to his car, ducking under the crime scene tape, before niftily avoiding a pack of reporters. He climbed into the Cruiser and cursed under his breath as he remembered what he'd said to her that night in his apartment. He'd told her that he was glad that they didn't keep secrets from each other. Who was he trying to kid – Bones or himself? Booth started the engine and tried to quell the anger that threatened to burst out. He slammed the palm of his hand a couple of times against the steering wheel and felt momentarily better. Pain offered a powerful distraction.

He put the car into drive and headed away from the pier and the nightmare that had taken place there. He really needed to get a grip. There was that poor kid, dead, murdered, before she even had a chance to take the tiniest bite out of life and here he was...alive. Shit, that was the kind of perspective that should have set him straight. But it didn't. He was too far gone for that.

Maybe it would be easier to deal with it if she didn't occasionally give him hope that she felt something for him too. There were times, moments, when he swore he felt her defences weakening in tandem with his own. He wanted to believe that it was more than attraction on her part but really, he'd take that. Attraction was something that they could build on.

Just last week at the museum they'd had one of 'those moments'. Bones was apprehensive about her speech to the Egyptian Ambassador and they'd gotten so close, so comfortable and lost. He could smell her floral shampoo and the hint of some heady scent that played havoc with his senses. He couldn't resist touching her hair and brushing it back off her shoulder. He knew, technically, that this was straying over the line. But he'd reached out before thinking twice.

"_You and I this was our case and I guess what goes on between us that should just be ours isn't that what you said?"_

He was a goner, right there.

He'd almost reached his apartment building when his cell rang.

"Booth." He said pulling over at the side of the street and stilling the engine.

"Agent Booth. I'm calling to remind you of our appointment this afternoon – at 2 o'clock."

"Hey, Sweets. How could I forget...I so look forward to our sessions?"

"Did you look over the literature I gave you?"

"Yeah. I did my homework. Happy?"

"My happiness is not at issue here. So, what I thought we could concentrate on this afternoon is..."

"Sorry, Sweets, I have another call – I gotta take it."

"Agent Booth...I"

Booth hung up and only just resisted the urge to throw his cell out the window and into the path of oncoming traffic. He turned the ignition and let the engine idle. He couldn't decide whether to go home or not. He should go home. He was exhausted. He hadn't gotten more than a couple hours sleep in the past two days. But sleeping came at a price. It was always the same. He'd fall asleep and lose himself in a world that wasn't real. It didn't matter that sometimes that world felt more real than the one he was living in.

"_Do you love me?"_

"_Yeah. Do you want me to prove it to you?"_

But they weren't nightclub owners and she wasn't his wife. They'd never made love in the darkest hours before dawn and gone to work still aching for each other. The memories weren't real – they were a work of unpublished fiction. And so, while at first the dreams sustained him and made it easier to get through the day, as time passed, they kept him restive, tormented company.

Booth pulled away from the curb, flipped his indicator on and took a right at the end of the street. A short while later as he slowed down to a stop at a set of traffic lights, he saw his building in the Cruiser's rear view mirror. He'd sleep later. Maybe.


	4. XVII I do not love you

_**AN: Thanks to all of you who have read, reviewed, added this story to their favourites or asked for an update alert. I am very flattered and slightly nervous – I don't want to let you down. Anyway, nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? **_

_**So, by way of some background: this, my first Bones story, was intended to be a one-shot but a kindly soul suggested that my story may have legs and so I present the fourth chapter. I thought it wise to give you an insight into where I'm planning on taking this story, cause reading it back just now brought home to me that the context in which the story is set may appear a little confused. Here's where I'm going: Booth is struggling with his feelings for Bones, post-surgery. They are working a serial killer case, which is a figment of my sadly, limited, imagination. In order to ground the story time wise and also to try and keep their interactions as real as possible, I wanted to intersperse my story with occasional plotlines from the show. Not sure how successful I've been but writing this in tandem with the show feeds my imagination (and, as alluded to above...it needs feeding)! I accept that the story may feel a little one-sided, being that it's told from Booth's POV. I might try putting thoughts into Brennan's head but for the moment I'm having too much fun with our favourite FBI agent.**_

_**Finally, to American readers: apologies for any language oddities etc. I'm a Brit and so may well in the course of this story call a sidewalk a pavement or use a colloquialism which is out of place. Hope it doesn't detract from the story too much. **_

_**So, here's the next chapter which was partly inspired by a truly beautiful poem by Pablo Neruda. **_

_**Hope you like it. If you have the time and inclination let me know what you think.**_

_**Thank you. **_

_  
__**XVII (I do not love you...)**__ - __**Pablo Neruda. **_

_I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,_

_or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off._

_I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,_

_in secret, between the shadow and the soul._

_I love you as the plant that never blooms_

_but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;_

_thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,_

_risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body._

_I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where._

_I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;_

_so I love you because I know no other way_

_than this: where __I__ does not exist, nor __you__,_

_so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,_

_so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep._

Booth felt the steady bass notes emanating from the stereo reverberate through the wooden frame of the couch he was lying on. He'd played this track for Bones once and was surprised that she'd liked it. Early 90's dance music wasn't really his bag either but The Source Feat Candi Staton was different. It stood out from the rest of the soulless dross. _"You got the love I need to see me through."_ He felt the bass hum deep in his chest as the track picked up in intensity. It was comforting to be touched in some way. He'd really fallen that far. He was really that alone, that brittle. He shifted position so that the underside of his wrist rested against the solid arm of the battered couch and closed his tired eyes as the rhythmic murmur danced across his skin.

The sensation brought to mind the last time he'd seen Bones. It was two nights ago at the Founding Fathers. They were celebrating closing the chicken farm case and she'd touched his wrist with her finger when she realised that he'd noticed something about Angela. She'd touched him without thinking about it. The follow-up pat on his forearm was deliberate, maybe forced and designed to buck up his spirits, but it was that first, unconscious and fleeting touch that caused his chest to tighten. For one crazy moment he wanted her to be cognisant of that fact.

"_Fuck."_ He swore into the seat cushion. He wanted his heart to quit already. He desperately wanted to shut out the way her body, her voice and her touch spoke to him in different, confusing tones, like he was hard-wired into some kind of polyphonic radio frequency that was permanently set to FM Bones 79.2. If it had been any other woman, he would have made his move by now. Once he felt an attraction for someone, he acted on it. It didn't matter if the woman in question turned him down; the fact was Seeley Booth operated on instinct and he wasn't the type to let the chance of a relationship or a one-nighter pass him by, not if he could help it. The fact was though that no woman had ever turned him down. When he served as a Ranger the guys he bunked with had taken to calling him "Sure-thing Seeley" – it wasn't a nickname that he was ever particularly fond or proud of but he had to admit when he approached a woman in a bar or a club the fact that he owned a 100% success rate caused to him swagger, just a little bit.

He could barely put one foot in front of the other whenever he was around Bones (and he didn't just mean figuratively) and so a swagger was most definitely beyond him. He knew that hadn't always been the case. Sure, he'd been attracted to her before his operation. Bones was beautiful. How could he not be? But before his surgery he was able to function like a normal person not like some crazed loved-up loser. Now that he loved her everything was different, off kilter. Not only was he struggling to remember the little things, like whether he wanted a sprinkling of brown sugar on his oatmeal, but he couldn't recall the big ticket kind of things – like how to tell when a murderer was lying to your face or how to process feelings of love.

How had he loved Rebecca? How had he loved Jenny Burdett in his final year of school? Had he been this frenetic? No. He was unbalanced because he mostly loved Bones in secret. He loved her in the shadowy time before night receded into day. In those silent early hours of the morning he touched her, kissed her like a man possessed as she writhed under him and he loved her. Then daylight came and made a liar out of him. In the daylight he loved her in an "atta girl kind of way". He sucked.

The hard truth was that in the daylight he didn't know how to love her. But, and here was the kicker: it was in the daylight when they were walking to his SUV on their way to a crime scene or when she dropped by the FBI building with her latest report when he loved her the most. It was just her – blood, flesh and bones. Not a stylised dream or fantasy imagined in soft-focus, with flattering lighting as standard.

He wanted to love her without complication. He wanted it to be simple between them. He wanted to take her for coffee at the diner after work and hold her hand as they talked over their day. He wanted to go grocery shopping with her, decorate a Christmas tree with her and climb into bed next to her and hold her until the next day shone through the slender horizontal gaps in his bedroom blinds.

Booth turned over on the couch onto his back and faced the ceiling. _"I love you." _He said to the empty room, his voice barely audible even to his own ears. When later the last song played out, Booth placed his hand on his chest and imagined that it was hers. His heart beat faster; apparently his heart was easily fooled. And right there was the problem.

The next day

"Jesus...she's just a kid. A fucking kid!"

Bones came and stood next to him and they both moved a step back as orderlies from the county coroner's office loaded the body bag into the back of the truck.

"Kids are the worst." Bones said staring at the ground.

"I really hate this"

"Me too, Booth."

"I really HATE him!" Booth spat as he tried to keep his arms at his side. Right now all he wanted to do was smack his fist against the side of the truck.

"We don't know who did this. It may not turn out to be..."

"It's the same guy, Bones." He said confidently.

"Then you'll catch him. I know you will." The north-easterly wind whipped her long hair about her face and he saw determination flickering in her blue eyes.

"I wish I had your faith, Bones."

"I have faith enough for both of us."

"Whoa. Where did that come from?"

"Look, I know you doubt yourself at the moment. But it's like I told you – you still have it, Booth. I may not feel faith in a God but I place my trust in you. I trust that you will prevail. That's my interpretation of faith."

"I'm not sure I'm worthy of it."

"You are." She bumped against his shoulder and smiled shyly. Booth wasn't sure if her words had made him better or worse.

"I'll drop you back at the Jeffersonian."

"Okay. Oh, it's Wednesday. You have your weekly appointment with Sweets."

"Yep."

"He cleared you fit for duty two months ago."

"He did."

Booth prayed that she wouldn't ask why he was still seeing Sweets. Certainly his sessions weren't mandatory - which was the only reason why in the past he would have subjected himself to the young shrink's scrutiny. Booth kept going because he needed to understand why his feelings for his partner weren't diminishing.

"I still have regular brain scans." It was the truth but he hoped that she would reason that if he needed a medical check-up that it followed that he would need psychological counselling, given the nature of his surgery.

"Oh." She replied. He offered a silent word of thanks to the Man upstairs.

The truck pulled away, its rear wheels momentarily floundering in the thick mud. Maybe if he hadn't been so concerned with deceiving her he would have given more thought to why her shoulder still rested against his upper arm.

Back at the Jeffersonian

"There are several comminuted fractures to the ilium, pubis and sacrum. I need more light. Um..the ilium, ischium and pubis are not fused and..."

Booth cleared his throat and placed his hands on his hips. "In English would be good, Bones. I thought we talked about this?" He was only half joking.

"Um...the three bones in the victim's hip are not fused. Meaning that she had not reached the normal age range where puberty occurs."

"And the fractures?"

"Her ilium, pubis and sacrum are splintered and crushed into a number of pieces." She looked up from the examination table. "Her pelvis is broken, Booth."

"That makes four victims that we know about. Are we any closer to getting an ID?"

"Angela is working on it now."

"Okay. I'll see how she's getting on."

He couldn't stand to be there any longer. Looking over death was, sadly, a regular part of his job but the size of the bones displayed on the stainless steel table were small and sometimes it was too much to deal with. Try as he might not to, whenever he saw the bones of a child he thought of Parker and it just about stopped his heart.

Booth peered round the glass door to Angela's office.

"Ange. Hey. "

"Hey, Booth. What do you need?"

"Are you any closer to making an ID?"

He walked into the dimly lit room and leaned against her desk. His arms were crossed over his chest and he couldn't seem to breathe normally. _It'll pass, Seeley_. He repeated over and over to himself.

"You think it's Maisy don't you?" She sighed as she tapped the keys on the small tablet in her hands and the image of a skull started to materialise on the plasma TV in front of him.

"Yeah. Her parents reported her missing four days ago. Her entire town has been out looking for her. She went missing from the playground of a local park. She'd gone there with her older brother and sister while their mom made dinner. The last they saw of her was when she went over to play on the swings - one minute she was there and the next she was gone. Her sister said that the swing was still moving when they looked round for her but she wasn't on it." He took in another unsteady breath.

"God. What kind of person steals a kid from a playground?"

"The evil kind." He heard his voice catch and he felt like he was suffocating. He couldn't take in enough air. He instinctively tried to loosen the collar of his white shirt but his hands were shaking so much that he couldn't work the button free.

"So far the guys dealing with the case don't suspect any family member of taking her. She's...she's only nine years old." His voice didn't sound right. _Thud. Thud. Thud._ Angela was speaking to him but all he could hear was the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.

"Booth."

He couldn't stop the tears that rolled down his face. He tried to swipe them away but they kept coming. He hung his head. He was crying in Angela's office for fuck's sake!

"Booth."

He motioned to Angela to keep her distance. He breathed in a large lungful of air and willed himself to stop. He was shaking. He had no control over his body. He was mortified, scared beyond belief and by the time Angela was holding him in her arms, he was sobbing uncontrollably.

"It's okay, hun. You're gonna be okay, Booth."

He held onto her, hard, not even considering if he might be gripping too tight. He held onto her like a drowning man who didn't trust that the life preserver he clung to wasn't going to get swept away, out to sea.

"Don't let go." He sobbed into her hair. "Don't...let..."

"I'm here. Booth, I won't let you go, okay. I won't let go. I promise you."

Slowly he felt his breathing return to a steadier pace and the paralysing fear that had consumed him lessened. But he didn't want to let Angela go. Not yet. Not until the shaking stopped.

"That's it, Booth. Concentrate on taking deep and even breaths, okay."

"I'm sorry. Fuck, Ange...I'm sorry."

"Shut up, okay. Just breathe for me. That's it...that's it."

Finally, when he felt able to, he loosened his grip a little. He winced when she took his face in her hands. He figured he must look terrible but nonetheless he made a half-hearted effort to return her kind smile.

"You're back." She said simply and kissed him on the cheek. "You're okay."

"I don't know what to say."

"Then say nothing. You don't need to say anything, Booth."

"Yeah. I do. Ange, don't tell Bones."

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	5. Fear

_**AN: Thank you for the reviews! Really, they have given me the confidence to keep writing. **_

_**This chapter explores the possible reasons why Booth is off his game. I've also offered a glimpse into what Brennan may be feeling. **_

_**Side note: can I just ask...how hot was Booth popping bullets on the firing range in last night's episode...? So yummy! Speaking of last night's episode - I've borrowed a tinsy tiny bit from Angela's conversation with Gordon Gordon. **_

_**The next chapter will be B&B heavy - I think I need to balance out some of the sadness. Not sure I can manage to pen something fluffy but if sexual tension is your bag, then hopefully it'll be to your liking!**_____

_**Thanks again for reading.**_

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_**Fear – Lewis Carol Ken Luke**__**  
**_

_Fear is the burning hell, red as the blazing flames  
Fear is the hot taste of anger and revenge that you can't resist  
Fear is the smell of a malicious grin of a walking devil  
Fear sounds nothing more than the coldness of the dark  
Fear is terror seizing you to death  
Fear is the not done homework  
Fear is your mother's angry face  
Fear is your dad's long stick in his hands  
Fear is when you get punished  
Fear is everything including you  
(Someone will fear you.. I guess)_

Booth reached out from under the comforter and clumsily fingered the buttons on his radio alarm clock until he found the right one and pushed it. He enjoyed the relative silence for a few breaths before he became aware of the sound of traffic outside his window and, inevitably, the persistent and sad wail of sirens. It never stopped. He covered his face with his hands and sighed. He didn't want to start the day. He only wanted it to end. Lately all his mornings started this way. Everything was an effort: getting out of bed, getting dressed, and driving into work – it all took effort and he fast running out of energy.

Twenty minutes later he made it into the bathroom and looked at his reflection in the mirror that hung over the sink. He was forced to squint against the harsh brightness of overhead light. He squeezed some toothpaste onto his toothbrush and watched as the man in the mirror worked the brush back and forth in his mouth. "_You're in there, Seeley. You'll come back."_ He spat out a mouthful of toothpaste and turned on the faucet hard so that the resulting splash cleaned the white foamy liquid from the side of the bowl. The water bounced against the porcelain and he jumped back as cold drops rained against his bare stomach and chest. _Well, he was awake now!_

Booth finished up and walked back through to the bedroom. He opened his closet and wrestled yesterday's shirt off the hanger and then picked up a pair of pants from the floor by the laundry hamper. He doubted he'd find clean socks and underwear in the chest of drawers by his bed but figured he'd chance it anyway. He opened the top drawer and was relieved to find a single pair of socks in amongst some well worn boxer shorts that he really should toss out. As he closed the drawer the yellow post-it note stuck to the front fluttered onto the rug. He bent to pick it up and sighed at the message he'd scrawled there: _"YOU LIKE COLORFUL SOCKS". _

Another note greeted him as he reached for the handle on the green retro-design refrigerator in the small kitchen. _"YOU LIKE BROWN SUGAR ON YOUR OATMEAL. BONES SAYS YOU LIKE IT ON EVERYTHING." _The note did him no good - he'd forgotten to buy milk on his way home from work the night before. He opened the door, grabbed an apple from the salad crisper and swung the door closed again, with a little more force than was necessary.

On his way to the front door, he paused to pick up his keys and wallet and consulted some of the jumble of yellow squares pasted to the mirror above the shelf. "WEAR YOUR 'COCKY' BELT BUCKLE" "YOU HATE TEA, UNLESS STRONG AND BLACK" "YOU ALWAYS DRIVE – NEVER BONES"

Yep. Every day was an effort.

FBI Building: Dr Sweet's Office

"Agent Booth. Take a seat. I just need to send this email and then I'll be with you."

Booth sat down on the faux suede couch and wondered when he'd reach the point where he didn't need these meetings anymore. When would he feel like himself again? His right foot drummed against the carpeted floor but he didn't notice. His stomach was in knots and despite having just drunk three cups of coffee, his throat felt scratchy and uncomfortably dry.

"Right. All done. Sorry to have kept you waiting." The young psychiatrist said as he took a seat in front of Booth.

Sweets was immediately concerned by Booth's appearance. It wasn't simply the creased suit and the unkempt hair; it was the way the agent held himself – he was rounded, hunched, and it made him seem smaller somehow. Booth took his personal appearance seriously, what with the snappy ties and the neatly pressed black suits – the alarm bells in Sweets' head started to ring.

"Not a problem, Sweets."

"So." Sweets said as he flipped open his writing pad to a clean page.

"So?"

"So...what did you want to discuss? You called me, Agent Booth."

"I guess I want you to tell me when I'm going to be normal again."

"Normal?"

"Yeah. Like myself. When am I going to be myself, again?"

"What makes you think that you aren't 'yourself'?"

"Are you kidding me?"

"No."

"Sweets, I have damn post-it notes all over my apartment telling me what type of cereal I like and what kind of socks I need to wear!"

"You're being too hard on yourself, Agent Booth. You need..."

"How can I _not_ know these things?"

"Okay. Look I don't want to state the obvious here...but...okay, so I _am _going to state the obvious. You recently underwent brain surgery. It will take time to recover from that. I know that's not what you want to hear. But..."

"It's been months since the surgery and I feel fine. The headaches and nausea have gone. I'm good apart from _in here_, Sweets." Booth pointed to his head in exasperation.

"Agent Booth, you went through a hugely traumatic experience and that's a lot to deal with. Yes, you have made a physical recovery, but it's also important that you allow yourself time to recover emotionally. Some people find this the hardest part. It is not unusual for patients to become depressed and if you want to talk about..."

"I'm not depressed, okay. I don't get depressed."

"Okay, I'm going to list a few symptoms of depression, both psychological and physical and I want you to tell me if you are experiencing one or more of them."

Booth remained silent and so Sweets pushed ahead before the agent could change the subject or bolt from the room. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Are you finding it hard to get up in the morning? Are you taking less care of your appearance? Are you irritable one minute and the next tearful? Do you feel a lack of motivation and find it difficult to make a decision? Do you have a lack of energy or lack of interest in sex? Do you have feelings of hopelessness and helplessness? Does it take you longer than normal to fall asleep or do you wake in night? I could go on."

"Okay, so maybe some of those apply."

"We can explore those issues which are affecting you and..."

"There's something else – and, Sweets, if you breathe a word of this to anyone, so help me." Booth said as he leaned forward, purposely cutting the distance between them.

"It won't leave this room." Sweets said solemnly.

"I...I'm scared. I'm scared most of the time."

Sweets had never seen Booth so despondent. Professional concern aside, he hated to see the agent so cowered. This man was his friend.

"What scares you?" He said keeping his voice neutral. He wouldn't allow his personal feelings to intrude.

"That anything can happen. I mean one minute I'm fine and the next I'm being told that I'll die unless I have brain surgery. I can't get my head round that."

"What you're saying is perfectly understandable. You suffered a great shock. You nearly died."

"I've faced death before."

"This was different though, right? This wasn't in the course of doing your duty."

"I wasn't chasing a drug-dealing asshole down or ducking bullets in Iraq. I was interviewing some idiot wine producer with Bones and then I'm at the hospital and everything goes nuts. I wasn't. I wasn't..."

"You weren't prepared." Sweets said quietly.

"What would've happened if Bones hadn't of guessed what was going on?"

"You might have died."

"What if it happens again?"

"It might."

"Great. Real comforting, Sweets!" Booth said, his foot now tapping loudly on the carpet.

"You know it could. Okay, listen...I could crash my car tomorrow and die. I could be cooking dinner tonight and trip over the rug in my kitchen and smash my head against the oven and die. I could slip in the shower and die. Or I could develop a brain tumour and die. All those things are possible."

"So, your advice would be what? Take the bus, order in and..."

"My advice is that you learn how to manage the fear."

"And how do I do that?"

"Fear is a powerful and primitive human emotion and can be divided into two stages: biochemical and emotional. The biochemical response is universal, while the emotional response is highly individualized."

"Hey. I took Psych 101 at the Academy. I know about flight or flight. This doesn't help me."

"That's a biochemical reaction. What I think you need to focus on is your emotional response to fear."

"It's not just the thought of dying that scares me, okay. I worry that I won't be able to do my job and someone will get hurt _because of me_." Booth said as he clenched his fists at his sides until his knuckles turned bone white.

"Agent Booth, this is something that you can overcome. We can work on this. We can try some cognitive-behavioural techniques and certain exercises to help you deal with the symptoms of fear you experience."

"And these 'exercises' will help me, how?"

"We'll work on re-framing your thoughts into more positive terms. Instead of seeing an upcoming interview with a suspect as a catastrophe in the making, you'll be able to see the interview as a challenge, a puzzle to be solved. We can also work to tackle the negative physical sensations and emotions you're experiencing so that eventually these may be re-labelled. For example: the sensations of agitation, sweating palms, dry mouth, and stomach fluttering might be interpreted as fear, or could be labelled as anticipation. Most people would prefer anticipation rather than fear. If you want to feel positive, choose the positive label."

"Choose the positive label. Really, Sweets? Come on. Jeez..."

"Agent Booth, you need to look at it this way: you've encountered difficult situations before and survived them, maybe even benefited from them. Think about what skills you used to get through the tough times you experienced as a Ranger and now as an Agent and practice them. Essentially we need to work to change your focus from fearing the future to welcoming it with the knowledge that you possess the capabilities to handle whatever occurs."

"Okay."

"Okay?" Sweets said confused, not sure if Booth was signalling that they were done.

"Okay. So we'll work on it."

Sweets tried to limit the scope of the smile on his face. Booth had reached out to him. Really it was wrong that he put such stock in gaining the agent's approval.

"So, can I come back later this week?" Booth said as he sprang to his feet and headed towards the door.

"Sure. Call me to fix a time."

The door closed behind the agent and Sweets flipped his notebook shut. He looked up, surprised when the door opened again a couple of seconds later.

"Thanks, Sweets."

"Anytime, Agent Booth."

Later: The Jeffersonian

"Knock, knock."

"Why do people say "knock, knock" – why don't they just simply knock on the door? It makes no sense."

Booth opted to ignore the question as he walked into Brennan's office. As usual she was sitting behind her desk, her face a mask of concentration as she flicked from one x-ray shot to another.

"What can I do for you, Booth?" She said without looking up.

"I was actually looking for Angela. She's not in her office."

"She went out for lunch with Cam and Mr. Nigel Murray."

"Why didn't you go?"

"I have too much to do here."

"You know, all I've eaten today is an apple. You wanna grab something with me."

"I told you I have _work to do_." She finally looked at him.

"Aw, come on, Bones. You know I hate to eat alone."

"Booth, you are a grown man and..."

"Pleeeaassee."

"Begging doesn't become you, Booth." She said disdainfully but Booth saw the beginnings of a smile tug at the corners of her mouth as she went back to looking at the x-rays.

"Maybe. But is it working?"

"No."

Twenty minutes later Booth followed Brennan into the busy diner and couldn't keep the smug smile off his face.

"Hey. Over here, you two." Cam said as she slid across to the seat nearest the window, leaving room for Brennan to sit next to her. Booth commandeered an unclaimed chair from a nearby table.

He made a show of looking at the menu when he knew full well what he'd order.

"What'll it be, Bones? My treat."

"Um. The garden salad. But I'd like..."

"Extra dressing, I know."

"Everyone else good?" He said deliberately avoiding looking at Angela.

"Yeah. We ordered already." Cam said noticing the tension that suddenly settled over Booth. She cast an inquiring look at Angela but the artist simply shrugged, intimating that she didn't know the cause.

For most of the time they were eating and talking Booth felt something approaching normalcy. That Mr. Nigel Murray kid was bordering on annoying but he'd grown accustomed to the conveyor belt of weirdo's that Bones had working at the lab since Zach's departure and so he was mostly able to tune him out. He said maybe two words to Angela and she had been equally reticent. Bones meanwhile had not stopped talking. He understood some of what she said but to be honest he wasn't really listening. Instead he revelled in the easy joy of just watching her.

Bones was just in the middle of what could best be described as a lecture on cultural anthropology versus the relative merits of Dual Inheritance theory (at least that's what Booth thought she said) when his cell rang. Booth noticed that not even Mr. Nigel Murray, the king of trivia, appeared able to keep up.

"Booth."

"Agent Booth, its O'Hanlon. You need to get back here ASAP."

"Shit. Not another body." He whispered anxiously as he got up from the table and covered the phone with his hand.

"No. But some guy handed himself in for the murder of Carrie-Ann Kennedy. We're bringing him in now."

"I'm on my way."

Booth turned back to the table. "I've gotta get back."

"Is everything okay, Booth?" Brennan said her voice tight, worried.

"Maybe. Look, I'll catch you up later. Okay, Bones?"

"Of course."

Brennan watched Booth leave the restaurant and for as long as it took him to round the corner of the street and disappear.

"Hun, you gonna eat any of those?" Angela said eyeing Booth's plate of unfinished fries.

"Huh? No. " Brennan said distractedly.

"Cool." Angela said as she slid the plate closer with one hand and with the other she grabbed a bottle of ketchup.

"That reminds me, Angela. Booth was looking for you earlier. He must have forgotten that he needed to speak to you."

Angela looked at her friend and smiled knowingly. Brennan had turned to look out at the street, as if waiting for Booth's return.

"Oh. It's probably about those hockey tickets I said I might be able to score for him."

The lie slipped easily from her lips but she needn't have bothered conjuring one. Brennan seemed to be lost in another world. Angela wondered if it was the same one that Booth still pined for.

When the team got back to the Jeffersonian, Brennan still appeared to be out of sorts.

"I'll just grab the reconstructions I've been working on and swing by your office."

"Okay. I'll pull the x-rays for comparison." Brennan said mechanically.

"Hun. Are you okay?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"You seem a little distracted."

"I've been thinking about what may have caused the irregular markings on the mandible we examined earlier."

Angela heard the lie in the tone of her friend's words. Brennan was a stickler for the truth. She told the truth whether it was asked for or not, whether it made her popular or not. She watched Brennan's retreating form and worried why she had felt compelled to lie.

Reaching her office, she walked over to her desk and pulled some sheets of drawings from under a pile of books. She heard something fall onto the floor. With papers in hand, she knelt down and picked up the flat green box. The words _"The Green Apple"_ were imprinted on top. It was her favourite Eco-friendly jewellery store. Pretty much everything she wore round her neck, in her ears or around her wrist came from there. Placing the drawings back on the desk she opened the box. Inside was a wooden necklace, she suspected made from natural rosewood. It was simple and beautiful. Underneath the necklace was a small slip of folded white paper. She opened it and smiled when she read the words written there.

"_Ange – thank you for being you. Is that too corny? Your friend, Booth."_

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**AN: Liked it? Felt the dialogue fell flat? Would've liked Booth to shoot off a few rounds somewhere in this chapter (actually, can I vote for that?!) – let me know if you have the time. Thanks.**


	6. The Road Not Taken

_**AN: Thank you for reading and reviewing! I really, really, appreciate it. **_

_**I wanted to balance out some of the sadness of the previous five chapters and I hope this next instalment does that. That said: it's not fluffy. Well, there's a light sprinkling of fluff, here and there.**_

_**I hope to show in this chapter that Booth is starting feel more like himself again after his surgery and because of this he begins to relinquish his grip on his coma-dream. He starts to trust in his feelings for Bones and realises that he needs to stop running from those feelings. **_

_**I promised some sexual tension – this chapter is a little light where that's concerned, but as Booth becomes more confident and actively starts to woo Bones (something that I can't wait to see on the show) things will start to heat up. **_

_**Also, we'll get back to the serial killer case in the next chapter – I haven't forgotten about it!**_

_**I would really like to hear what you think. I hope you think my rendering of Booth is in character – advice and observations are **__**most definitely**__** welcome. **_

_**Thanks.**_

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_**The Road Not Taken - Robert Frost **_

_Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,  
And sorry I could not travel both  
And be one traveler, long I stood  
And looked down one as far as I could  
To where it bent in the undergrowth;_

_  
Then took the other, as just as fair,  
And having perhaps the better claim,  
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;  
Though as for that the passing there  
Had worn them really about the same,_

_  
And both that morning equally lay  
In leaves no step had trodden black.  
Oh, I kept the first for another day!  
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,  
I doubted if I should ever come back._

_  
I shall be telling this with a sigh  
Somewhere ages and ages hence:  
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-  
I took the one less traveled by,  
And that has made all the difference._

* * *

Booth grasped the cabinet door with his left hand and steadied it against his shoulder; he drilled the screw into the base hinge and then stepped back and watched with satisfaction as the newly hung door closed flush with the edge of the cooker hood. He was done. It had taken him all day but he'd replaced all the damaged cabinets and that coupled with a fresh coat of paint had transformed the smoke-scarred kitchen. The oven had been beyond repair and it would be a week before the new one would be delivered. He didn't care. He just wanted to remove all traces of the fire because every time he looked at the burned walls and blackened cabinets he thought of his Grandfather's face.

Pops would be fine. Booth knew that. But the fact remained that he couldn't cope; he couldn't help the man who had saved him when he was a child. Pops had given him an easy way out, told him that he needed to get back to the retirement home because he had obligations there, but they both knew why he couldn't stay. It was too much. Too much for Booth to handle right now.

He trampled the rigid corners of empty cardboard boxes underfoot as he walked to the refrigerator to grab another beer. He took a long drink and set the bottle on the worktop. He swiped his hand across his forehead, trying to dry the sweat that tickled his brow. His back and neck ached but it was a good kind of pain. He'd achieved something and done it without the use of a "cabinet hanging for dummies" self help guide. Typically, Bones wasn't there to witness it.

He'd clean up the mess tomorrow; right now all he wanted was a cool shower and sleep. He finished his beer and took one more look at his handiwork before switching off the kitchen light and walking through to the bathroom.

The lukewarm spray served only to tighten the muscles in his neck and shoulders and so he reached for the shower handle and turned it to the right. The change in temperature paradoxically made him shiver and he hugged his arms close to his body and stood fully under the spray until he felt the hot water penetrate his skin and warm him from the inside out.

"_What the hell had Pops said to her?" _

It was driving him nuts thinking about it and he knew there was no way that Bones would tell him. Those two were thick as thieves. He smiled. Pops had fallen for his partner within half an hour of meeting her. Hey, he couldn't blame the man. What surprised Booth was that she was equally smitten with him. She wasn't just humouring an old man, she loved him. Booth saw it in the way she smiled at him and the way she hugged him. Bones didn't hug people - well apart from family members and Angela, and sometimes, him. But she hadn't been guarded around Pops, she treated him like family and he'd been the same way with her. Yep, he'd give anything to know what his grandfather had said to her.

Booth shut off the water and reached for the towel that hung on the back of the glass shower door. Stepping out into the cooler air, he part-dried his hair before fixing the white towel around his waist and walking into the bedroom. The room was a mess. Thankfully Parker's room was reasonably tidy and so when Pops had stayed, Booth had set him up in there. He should clean up. He couldn't remember the last time he changed the sheets or ran the vacuum cleaner over the wooden floorboards...it was exhausting just thinking about all the things he needed to do. He tried not to get down on himself. Today had been a good day. Sweets had told him it would take time, that he wouldn't recover overnight but he struggled with the ebb and flow of his physical energy and the way that his grip on his emotions and memories seemed to solidify one moment and then dissolve into dust the next. The only constant was the way her felt for her. He could forget his pin number, forget to pick up milk on the way home from work, forget that he liked brown sugar on his cereal but he never forgot that he loved her.

"_You remember it's all in there. Everything you need to know. You just do what it tells you."_

That was the truth of it. He loved her with his heart, not his head. Sweets was brilliant but he was wrong. Besides when it came to knowing about love, he'd trust his grandfather's advice over the young doctor's, anytime. Pops had loved the same woman for forty two years and Booth knew that his grandmother had loved him back, just as much. Sweets' experience just didn't stack up against a forty year love affair.

He rummaged through the pile of clean laundry on the chair by his bed and pulled on some creased dark grey pyjama bottoms. He turned off the light and climbed into the unmade bed. The cool sheets felt good against his warm skin and it wasn't long before he fell asleep.

* * *

_She came to him again and this time he didn't question it. _

_They stood facing each other as he traced his fingers along the curved lines of her silver necklace. He saw her swallow, trying to steady her breathing. "I told you I liked this necklace, right?" He moved his fingers upwards and swept the soft, warm, skin of her throat before reaching around to touch the nape of her neck. He pulled her gently to him. He watched as her eyes darted to the busy lab that lay beyond the doors of her office and he dropped his head so that it rested against hers and whispered: "It's okay. We can stop." She kissed him then._

_He waited a beat before kissing her back. Her breath was warm against his lips and he deepened the kiss, impatient to taste her. He tightened his grip on her neck and as her tongue caressed his own, his knew in his heart that this was Bones. She wasn't Bren. She wasn't his wife. She wasn't carrying his child. He was kissing Bones and she was real._

* * *

Booth was awake before his alarm sounded and for the first time in months, he felt rested. He felt sure he'd dreamed about her but the memory of it eluded him. He got up and washed and dressed quickly. As he swallowed a mouthful of sugary black coffee, he smiled. He was going to see Bones today. It wasn't going to be weird. It wasn't going to be difficult. Pops was right: everything he needed to know was in his heart and it was time he started listening to it.

* * *

FBI Headquarters: Hoover Building

It was 11:52 and Booth was drowning in paperwork. His plan to sneak off and see Bones was now all but a distant hope. He swore under his breath as he picked up the next file from atop the pile that O'Hanlon had dropped by his desk earlier that morning. He opened the folder and started to read.

"Why is it so hot in here, Booth?" Brennan questioned as she walked into his office without knocking.

"Hello to you, too, Bones." He said, momentarily startled.

"I didn't say hello." She said obviously confused by his greeting.

"I know." That's the point."

"What's the point?"

"Forget it. The air conditioning is out. Apparently some guys came down to fix it but they didn't have the right parts or something. It's been like this since this morning."

"It is unseasonable warm today." She stated.

"Yeah, it's warm." He said only half-listening as he pretended to read through the case file in his hands. She was wearing that blue tailored shirt that he loved and jeans that hugged her body in all the right places.

"I listened to the weather report on the drive over here and a storm is forecast."

"Great, so it's gonna get _even_ stickier in here." He closed the file and tossed it back onto the pile. She looked amazing and he wanted so bad to touch her.

"Why don't you open a window?" Brennan said walking over to the large expanse of glass.

"No use. The windows don't open."

"Why?"

"FBI building, Bones. Security and all that."

"Oh." She said peering through the horizontal blind looking down at the street below. "So, that man that was arrested – you let him go?"

"Yep." Booth sighed. "The guy knew nothing about the Kennedy murder; he just wanted a place to sleep for the night and a decent meal."

"He was homeless?"

"Yeah. Sucks for him and it sucked for us when we found out that he wasn't our guy."

He watched her profile as she turned the information over in her mind. She was worried about how he was taking this latest setback. It made him sad and not a little resentful that she imagined him to be so fragile. Okay, so he'd taken a knock when he let that asshole pull the wool over his eyes in the interrogation room a few weeks back and then there was that issue with firing his gun. But since then he'd felt more confident, more in control. Something had shifted inside, like a part of him that was spinning out of his reach suddenly stopped turning and clicked back into place.

"You'll catch him, Booth."

"We'll catch him - you and me, Bones." He wouldn't fail. Not in front of her.

She was looking out the window again and he wondered what could be holding her attention. She seemed unsettled, jumpy even, and he worried that she was working too hard. He knew it was her way but that didn't stop him wishing that she'd take it a little easier on herself. The woman didn't even _need _to work. She was rich from her book deals and could no doubt leave murder and mayhem behind and pursue only those projects that she was most interested in. Not that he'd ever suggest this to her.

"You okay, Bones?"

"Yes. Why?" She said still looking out the window.

"You seem a little, I dunno...off."

"I'm fine." The smile she sent in his direction didn't reach her eyes. She was lying. Booth persevered.

"You'd tell me if something were wrong, right?"

"If I felt you could assist me in rectifying the situation, yes, I would tell you."

"Okay then. Good." She was giving nothing away. It was pointless to try and push it. "So, were you just in the neighbourhood...?" He could hear the hope in his voice.

"No. I came here to talk to Assistant Director, Hacker. He asked me to look over something for him."

"Why so formal, Bones? You dated the guy after all." She turned to look at him now and he felt exposed. Jealousy was never an emotion he'd been adept at hiding, especially where she was concerned.

"It was one dinner."

"Yeah. You need to take the elevator up a couple more floors, Bones. You know, to the dizzy heights."

"I know. I've spoken with him already."

"Ah huh." He muttered as he fought to keep his expression neutral. She looked flustered and all he could think about was what she had to be flustered about. Had something happened in Hacker's office? Was that why she seemed off? _Fuck! Fuck!_

"He asked me to look over his manuscript."

"He's writing a book?" He said disbelievingly and for some reason he felt the urge to smile.

"Yes."

"And?"

"And nothing, Booth. I can't talk to you about it, it wouldn't be right. I swore that I wouldn't mention it to anyone."

"Well you kept your promise for two whole floors." He laughed.

"You won't say anything to him, will you?" She advanced towards his desk, hands on hips. He moved his chair back and stood up. Resting his hands on his desk, he leaned forward and grinned.

"That depends."

"What does it depend on?"

"It depends on how much you're willing to divulge about "Andrew's Book"."

"Don't you mean Assistant Director, Hacker?" She shot back at him.

"Come on, Bones, spill. Is it all about FBI shit? Hey, am I in it."

"Why would you be in it?"

"I'm in your books. Don't authors base characters on people they know?"

"You're not in my books."

"I'm not?" She seemed to have a problem looking him in the eye and he felt a flicker of satisfaction when he realised that she was playing for time. "Are you sure about that?"

Just then his phone rang. He picked up and placing his hand over the receiver, he gave her his cockiest smile and whispered. "Saved by the bell, eh, Bones?"

This time she stared right back at him. He waited a beat before taking his hand away from the receiver. If he waited any longer she'd have time to compose a response and he was having too much fun watching her flounder.

"Booth." He answered louder than was necessary as she marched out of his office.

* * *

Booth ignored the growling in his stomach and signed his name to the report. The pile of work next to him didn't seem to be diminishing and he'd been at it for most of the day. Actually, he realised as he looked at his watch, he'd been at it all day.

Someone knocked on his office door and he shouted for them to come in. His stomach let rip with another disgruntled moan.

"Hey, Booth."

"Angela. What brings you here?" He said uncertainly. He hadn't spoken to Angela since that episode in her office, well he'd maybe said one or two words to her in the diner the other day but it hardly amounted to a conversation. He was embarrassed to find that he was blushing.

"Um, two things actually."

"Go ahead. Shoot." His voice belied a confidence that he did not feel.

"I thought I should, you know, break the ice."

"I see."

"So...you cried. I comforted you." She walked over to his desk and sat down.

"Wow! You really cut to the chase, huh?"

"I figure you'd do the same for me, right?"

"Right." He found he couldn't swallow.

"Look, please don't feel weird about it and don't make me feel weird either. You're my friend and I just did what friends do."

"I'm sorry if I made you feel weird." Booth whispered.

"I didn't feel weird at the time. But after and here, now, I feel weird around you, and I hate that."

"Sorry."

"Don't apologise, just _quit _being weird!"

"Um, I'm not sure how." He said smiling as she scowled at him.

"You know, I don't either."

Booth grabbed the stress ball from the top drawer of his desk and worked it in his hand. He stood up and walked round to the other side of the desk and then sat down in the chair next to her. He nudged her arm and she smiled back at him.

"Okay, what about I tell you that I think you're wonderful and that I'm lucky to have you as my friend. Then we move on."

"That sounds great. Moving on sounds great."

"So let's do that then." Booth grinned.

"It is the rational thing to do, right?"

"Ange, you've been working as a squint for too long." She smiled back at him and the awkwardness seemed to melt away.

"So, what was the second thing?"

"The second thing?"

"You said you had something else that wanted to talk to me about."

"Yeah. I did. Look what's the deal with you and Brennan?"

"There is no deal."

"Then why was she so mad when she got back from seeing you earlier today?"

"She was mad?"

"Steaming mad. I couldn't even talk her down."

"What makes you think that it was me that made her mad?"

"Because, Booth, you are the only person who can make her that crazy."

"You say it like that's a good thing." He got up from his chair and paced the area next to his desk. He threw the stress ball into the air and caught it.

"It is, sort of. But, hun, she was more than just mad, she was upset. Now, we're friends, good friends, I hope, but Brennan is my family and so when you mess with her, you mess with me."

"I don't know why she got mad and I have absolutely no clue why she would be upset. I'll talk to her, okay?"

"So you don't know why she was mad?"

"Didn't I just say that?" He felt cornered and his temper flared, she hadn't noticed the change in his tone. He heard it though – he willed her to back off.

"Yeah. But I don't believe you." She looked at him encouragingly and smiled.

Okay, now _he _was mad. Not only did he feel pissed at himself for upsetting Bones but now Angela was trying to interrogate him. She was trying to ferret out the truth, he knew out of concern for her best friend, but he didn't like it. He was the one that picked and pulled at a person until they told him things that they hoped to keep secret. He resented the intrusion.

Booth caught the ball again and smiled smugly. "Hey, we all have our secrets, Ange. Tell me, has Bones picked an intern yet? She mentioned that she was hoping to narrow the field down to one or two candidates."

"No. She hasn't picked yet."

Angela was confused by the change in subject matter and so she answered his question willingly. That's when he knew he had her.

"You know, I'm hoping that she gives Wendell the nod. He's a good guy."

"Yeah. He is. But Clark is pretty good..." He could tell that she was growing uncomfortable with his line of questioning but she couldn't know where he was leading her. She didn't see it coming.

"Sure. Sure. But Wendell's better than good, _right_?"

"Oh." She got that deer in the headlights look and Booth immediately felt bad for calling her on it.

"Did Wendell say something to you?" She looked upset and unsure of herself.

"No, Ange. He hasn't said anything to me about it. Look, I saw you two together at the Founding Fathers a few weeks back and I noticed the way he was looking at you."

"We were that obvious?" She looked worried, scared even. He understood. It was still new, what they had. And then there was Hodgins to consider.

"No. You weren't. I just picked up on something. It's what I do."

"Does Brennan know?"

"No and I'm not going to tell anyone, okay?"

"You promise? Cause with Wendell and I...I don't know what it is we're doing, you know?"

"I get it. You can trust me." He felt like the world's biggest asshole. He'd upset two women today. _"Way to go, Big Man!"_

"So, I better go. I'm meeting some friends for a drink." She got up to leave; the smile on her face fell short of genuine.

"Ange, I'm sorry, okay. I guess I didn't want you to keep digging at me about Bones. We kinda argued earlier – well actually it wasn't an argument exactly but it was tense, you know?"

"I know how you two can be sometimes." She smiled for real this time.

"The last thing I want to do is hurt her." He said softly and sat down on the edge of his desk.

"Then don't."

"I guess I don't know how to be around her. Not anymore."

"Be yourself. Behave like you would around any other woman you are crazy in love with."

"Ange...I don't..."

"Gotta go, Sweetie." She flashed a brilliant smile and stood up.

"You're just gonna cut and run now, huh?" He smiled back at her as she backed out of his office.

"Yeah. I am. Bye, Booth."

He remained seated and tossed the ball high into the air and shut his eyes. He held out his right hand and caught the ball. Keeping his eyes closed, he threw it up again and this time he caught it with his left hand.

_How did he behave around the women he loved? He hadn't had much practice; he'd only loved two women before her. With Jenny it was that first love, urgent, kind of deal - it had been over within a few months. He remembered the tension, the uncertainty and the all-encompassing fear that he wouldn't be loved as much he loved. By the time he fell for Rebecca he was older, wiser, the tension was still there, but he was better able to understand his feelings and so he wasn't as scared or unbalanced. He still bore the scars from when that, too, had ended, but it hadn't hurt like it had the first time. _

_The way he felt for Bones was different and he didn't have the words to explain it. He loved her from a place that no one else had touched. The thought of losing her, the thought that they, too, would end, tore at his insides and the fear was almost powerful enough to stop him from trying. Almost. _

He tossed the ball into the air again, and this time he when he felt it land firmly in the centre of his hand he took in a steadying breath. He opened his eyes. He had to stop running from her. He needed to have faith in his feelings. She could turn him down, sure, but he was done running.


	7. Silentium Amoris

_**AN: I am so pleased that people are out there reading my story. I honestly didn't expect to get a single review. **____** So, to all of you lovely, generous people, thank you for reading, reviewing and adding me/this story to an author/story alert. **_

_**Special thanks to 'MadeOfStars', 'Nedra1212' and 'Atelerix' for telling me what works - I hope I don't lose you with this next chapter – it had the potential to spiral out of all control.**_

_**Story Note:**__** Booth is getting better and the things that came easily to him before his surgery are becoming easy again. He's not fully recovered (the man recently underwent brain surgery!) but he starts to trust that he'll find himself again. **_

_**I promised some sexual tension – not sure if what I've written works in the context of the story and its tone...but, hey, it was fun to write. **_

_**Please be aware that this chapter includes adult language and situations of a sexual nature...it's not 'M' rated stuff, but I wanted to alert you in case this isn't your thing.**_

_**If you have the time let me know what you think. Thanks again.**_

_

* * *

_

_**Silentium Amoris - Oscar Wilde **_

_As often-times the too resplendent sun  
Hurries the pallid and reluctant moon  
Back to her sombre cave, ere she hath won  
A single ballad from the nightingale,  
So doth thy Beauty make my lips to fail,  
And all my sweetest singing out of tune._

And as at dawn across the level mead  
On wings impetuous some wind will come,  
And with its too harsh kisses break the reed  
Which was its only instrument of song,  
So my too stormy passions work me wrong,  
And for excess of Love my Love is dumb.

But surely unto Thee mine eyes did show  
Why I am silent, and my lute unstrung;  
Else it were better we should part, and go,  
Thou to some lips of sweeter melody,  
And I to nurse the barren memory  
Of unkissed kisses, and songs never sung. 

* * *

FBI Headquarters: Hoover Building

Booth loosened his pink tie and removed the tanned leather gun holster that had rested heavily against him all day. He figured he could relax his dress code seeing as the clock on his office wall had just ticked past eight o'clock. The thick, warm, air still swirled about him but it wasn't as stifling as it had been earlier in the day. The damage was done though - the heat had wearied him and made it so that concentrating on the report in front of him was a matter of sheer determination. His once crisp white shirt felt uncomfortably damp against his skin and he tried not to think about how great it would feel to kick off his shoes and socks. Reasoning that this would perhaps stretch the flexibility of the FBI dress code an inch too far, he put the thought right out of his mind.

He focused again on the paperwork in front of him. Rios and O'Hanlon had worked hard to draw together all the current strands of known facts and open lines of inquiry pertaining to the _"Jackrabbit"_ serial killer case. Forensic evidence was as yet unable to confirm that the injuries sustained by the four known victims were made by the same weapon or weapons or even if it was likely that the same person had inflicted those injuries but forensic psychological profiling and tried and tested FBI gut instinct indicated that they were on the trail of a serial killer.

Booth looked over the victim list again and sighed. Each name represented a horrific waste of a young life - the blunt, heartless end to all possibilities. Losing a loved one in such circumstances left a person with no time to adjust, no time to say goodbye – the person they loved was wrenched from their grasp, their orbit, and there was nothing to fill the void but time. He drew a circle around the final name on the list: _"Maisy Novak (9yrs) from __Kalorama, D.C.__"._ The killer had seemingly deviated from type. Maisy was a child and seven years younger than the next youngest victim. Did this signify that the killer didn't have a type, that the earlier murders were linked only by coincidence, or was there something about Maisy in particular which had caused the sicko to take her? Was the killer only interested in girls and women or would he or she (Booth would bet the house that it was a man) branch out and target boys and men? Ted Bundy, although typically targeting females aged between 15 to 25 years, also killed a 12 year old and 13 year old girl and Donald Henry Gaskins and David Berkowitz didn't limit their rage to one sex. Booth unconsciously worked the muscle in his cheek - there was just no way of telling – hell, he considered, there could be more bodies out there that they didn't know about.

If he deferred to FBI established wisdom, the killer was a white, lower or middle class, man of above average intelligence who was likely targeting white women between the ages of 18 and 50. The women would be strangers to him. There would be a sexual element to the crimes, although this may not be obvious – nonetheless, the killer would have specific sexual interests that motivated him to select the four victims whose names stared back at Booth.

_Vic # 1 = Heather Franks (19yrs) – Aberdeen, South Dakota _

_Vic #2 = Carrie-Ann Kennedy (17yrs) – Carson City, Nevada (body found in Chicago)_

_Vic #3 = Chrissy Drake (16yrs) – Anacostia, D.C._

_Vic #4 = Maisy Novak (9yrs) – Kalorama, D.C. _

Aside from the fact that the victims were all female, it was too soon to discern a pattern. Maisy was significantly younger than the other three victims and Carrie-Ann was the only girl abducted and then moved out of state. Heather Franks and Chrissy Drake were cheerleaders...Booth ran his hands through his hair and swore under his breath. He could stare at the report all night but the truth was that unless Bones and her team of squints uncovered something, his guys got lucky, or the killer struck again, the trail was cold.

Booth sat and stared at the page for a while longer before slamming the file shut and walking out of his office. He walked the corridor to the small communal kitchen and on the way noticed that only O'Hanlon was still working. The other desks were empty. He could be mean-spirited and cynical and put the young agent's dedication down to the fact that he was new to the job and keen to make the right impression but Booth didn't think that's what kept him behind. The man cared. He was driven to try and right wrongs and protect those that couldn't protect themselves. It was that same determination that kept Booth working into the early hours of the morning on a regular basis.

Reaching the kitchen, he tapped the back of his hand against the glass coffee pot and then deciding that it was still just warm enough, he emptied the last of the stale coffee into his mug. He stared longingly at the vending machine to his right – any kind of cold soda would rock his world but the machine was bust. A paranoid man might conclude that the vending machine was in league with the broken air conditioning system. Booth drank the tepid, metallic, liquid down in a few gulps and then filled the mug with water from the faucet. He drank the mug dry and refilled it twice more before his thirst abated. Now that he was no longer thirsty, he realised that he was ravenous. Rows of potato chips and cookies taunted him through the glass front of the vending machine and he turned away and headed back to his office before he did something he'd regret.

The rain came then. It pounded mercilessly against the windows; he felt the crackle of electricity in the air and the temperature, if anything seemed to ratchet up a degree or two. Booth couldn't bear it any longer and he abandoned his tie and undid the top two buttons of his shirt. He looked at his watch: it was 8:23 and he wondered if Bones had left the Jeffersonian yet.

Of course he'd apologised - sort of. He called Bones a few minutes after Angela had left his office. He made small talk before telling her that he needed to run by her the latest development in the case. He hadn't actually said the words "I'm sorry" but he knew that she understood what his call meant. It was their way. They didn't need to say the words when all it took was one of them to make the first move. He called her. He made the first move. Once the initial tension ebbed away, he had even managed to make her laugh at one of his asinine jokes. When she'd laughed, he pictured her falling back in her office chair, head cast back, eyes shining with laughter and he started to laugh, too. When Bones found something really amusing she laughed with her whole being, she surrendered her body to it and Booth wished he was there to see her let go. When the laughter subsided she told him that she would drop by his office on her way home later that evening. He knew he was forgiven.

It was perhaps twenty minutes later when Booth sensed that he was being watched. He looked up from his computer to see Bones standing in the doorway.

"I come bearing gifts." She grinned, holding up two plastic bags.

"What did you bring me?" He smiled, his train of thought derailed in an instant. She had fixed her long hair into a ponytail and the few strands of hair which were too short to fasten fell in soft, wavy wisps and framed her beautiful face. He swallowed - his mouth suddenly dry again.

"All kinds of good things." She smiled and moved away from the doorframe, into his office. She shrugged out of her white coat and carefully hung it on the coat rack, careful not to touch the soaking wet outer layer.

"Sounds intriguing." He smiled back, raising an eyebrow.

"Tell me what you want more than anything else in the world right now?"

He resisted telling her the obvious – that he wanted to lift her onto his desk and hold her, breathe her in, until the world spun unnoticed all around them.

"Okay. I'd have to go with a cold soda, a Klondike Bar and some Wong Foo's – though not necessarily in that order."

Brennan walked over to him and deposited the two bags onto one of the chairs in front of his desk. She sat down in the other and began to sort through the contents of the bags. Booth knew without her telling him that she'd brought Thai food and his stomach lurched hungrily as the amazingly gorgeous smells wafted in his direction.

"Okay, so I can satisfy two of your wishes." She pulled out an assortment of cartons from one of the bags and presented him with chopsticks. "I also have soda." He took the ice-cold Pepsi from her and opened it. He drank a few greedy gulps before setting the can down and looking at the cartons.

"Go on. Eat. No doubt you've not eaten anything since lunchtime."

"Try this morning." He said opening the carton nearest to him and flinching a little as the steam escaped from within and burned the pad of his thumb.

"You need to take care of yourself better, Booth."

"Hmm! Look who's talking. Aren't you the same woman who regularly works long into the night without a break?" Booth said munching on a mouthful of Pad See Ew.

"Fine. I'll give you that. But I eat."

"Only cause Angela makes you." He challenged and brushed away a drizzle of oyster sauce that tickled his chin. "So, he said reaching for a tofu filled lettuce wrap, what else did you bring?"

"Given the air conditioning situation, I thought you might like ice cream but they were out of Klondike Bars and so I got cherry popsicles instead. I hope you like those...I wasn't sure."

"Wow. Thanks, Bones! We better eat up before they melt. It's still like a zillion degrees in here."

"You're being sarcastic." She stated and he smiled at her need to voice the obvious. "Besides, they won't melt."

"They won't?" Booth questioned as he took another healthy bite of his lettuce wrap.

"No. I came prepared." Brennan placed a light blue cooler on his desk and then reached for a tofu wrap.

"Bones, tell me you don't use that for transporting or storing body parts!" He stopped chewing and looked at her, part horrified and part amused.

"Relax, Booth. It's my cooler. I had it in the trunk of my car and I can promise that the scariest thing that's been in it is my home-made vegetable chilli."

"Just asking..." He watched her take a mouthful of her wrap and then looked away, concentrating hard on the clock on the wall and the persistent drumming of the rain as she licked some chilli oil from the base of her index finger. Since when couldn't he eat a simple meal with her without reading something sensual or sexual into her every gesture? He flicked his attention back to her and cursed his own lousy timing. He watched mesmerized as she closed her eyes as she swallowed a mouthful of the wrap. "Mmmm", she sighed and it was all he could do to remain in his chair and not leap over the desk and pull her to him. _"Get your mind out the gutter, Seeley!" _

Booth would swear, if not for the fact that Bones didn't seem the type to play _those_ kinds of games, that she was torturing him on purpose. She speared a chunk of pineapple from the fragrant rice they were sharing and he couldn't help but stare as she took a bite causing juice to roll along the length of the chopsticks she held loosely in her hand. The liquid dripped down the side of her elegant hand and Booth held his breath as she traced the clear line of juice with her tongue. He loved that she ate exactly what she liked and didn't pull that girly crap of pretending that she only ate salad leaves and didn't ever tuck into a proper meal. But on this occasion he wished she was devouring sexless salad leaves and not soft, ripe, fruit.

By the time the cartons were empty, Booth was totally distracted. He helped her tidy the boxes back into the bag and then squashed the bulky mass into the metal bin by the side of his desk.

"Time for popsicles." Brennan said as she went to open the cooler.

"You know, I don't think I could eat another thing, Bones." He said resting back in his chair and tried to adjust to the feeling of being uncomfortably full.

"It's just ice and some additive-rich fruit juice. However, I'm not surprised - you did eat most of the wraps and the rice."

"Hey! You ate all the mango salad."

"You don't even like mango salad." She shot back and then smiled as she caught his mock-innocent expression.

"Will they keep for a little while longer?"

"Sure. I've packed the cooler with plenty of ice blocks. Is that the case file?" Brennan pointed to the closed folder that rested against his keyboard. They both knew which case she referred to.

His good mood evaporated as he picked up the file and handed it to her.

"Yeah. So...did Hodgins have any luck pulling trace evidence from the last girl?" He just couldn't bear to assign a name to the collection of bones that the "girl" had become. Instead, he focused on the image of the pretty, smiling little girl that shone from the photograph that her grieving parents had given to the FBI shortly after she was taken. It was the Maisy that he wanted to remember. It was the Maisy that he wanted to avenge so badly that it threatened to overwhelm him.

"No. We discovered some fibres but they matched the clothing she was wearing at the time she disappeared. Hodgins didn't find anything out of the ordinary and certainly nothing to tie her to her killer." She scanned the file and then wrinkled her nose; he was sure that a question was to follow.

"Why is the file headed up "Jackrabbit: #001769"?"

"The first vic was a cheerleader for the local college football team, the South Dakota Jackrabbits."

"Is that really how the FBI assigns a case name? It seems very random."

"It doesn't really matter what it's called – it's just a shorthand way of referencing a case – who'd remember case file #001769?"

"You just did." She said simply.

"Well, that's because I've been staring at that thing all day. Ask me tomorrow and I'll have forgotten the numbers." He sensed that Brennan didn't believe him but she understood the point he was making.

"You know", she continued, "it was long thought that the European Brown Hare engaged in inter-male competition...hares were observed striking one another with their paws...but on closer inspection is was revealed that it's usually the females that strike the males, either to show that they aren't ready to mate or as a test of the male's determination."

"Speaking of random..." He chuckled.

"It's not random. A Jackrabbit is a hare. I told you something relevant." He doubted he'd ever seen her pout before.

"Is it relevant to the case, which is what we were discussing?"

"Well...no...but."

"But...you like to educate me whenever you get the chance, right?" He sat forward, placing his elbows on the top of his desk and rested his chin in his hands.

"You can never know too much." She smiled shyly as he fixed her with his best charm smile.

"Okay, 'teach'...tell me something else."

"A similar pattern of behaviour is evident in the..." Her voice died as his dimly lit office was suddenly bathed in white light. The flash lasted a second or two and then Booth heard the deep, rumbling of a thunderclap.

"Wow! I guess that's the storm you said was coming." He said as the next bolt of lightning sliced through the horizontal blinds. He watched, awestruck, as the thunderstorm delivered her into the light.

She looked so beautiful. He longed to run his hand along her cheek and bring his index finger to rest under her pretty chin, he wanted to lean in closer...to tilt her mouth towards his own...to be so wonderfully close to her. He swallowed and suddenly, despite his every effort, he remembered the way she had felt in his arms, the way she moved beneath him, on top of him, as he'd kissed her with everything he had.

She was talking to him but her words were lost to the storm and he was grateful for it. He couldn't have answered her if he tried. He thought he was getting better, that his coma-dream was finally losing its grip. He didn't want to confuse the woman in his dream with the woman who now sat opposite him. He couldn't and wouldn't do that. She was Bones, _his Bones. _So, he'd never touched her in that way..._God, how he wanted to touch her in that way_...but that didn't mean that he never would, right? He had to believe that _they_ were possible. Taking solace in his dream was a temporary fix, a fleeting high, and as he continued to look at her, he realised that his dream would never live up to the reality of her. If he was ever blessed enough to take Bones into his bed, he knew, deep down, that she would be so much more than the woman in his dreams.

"It's really coming down out there. Let's look." Bones jumped to her feet and rushed over to the window. She pulled up the blinds and pressed her face to the glass. Booth followed and soon they were both leaning forward, faces touching the cool glass panes as they watched the bright lightning slice into the inky-blue night sky.

"Bones", he said softly, as he watched another flash of light illuminate the surrounding buildings, "tell me something about lightening."

"Temperatures in the path of a lightning bolt can reach as high as 50,000 degrees Fahrenheit." She said, without seemingly needing to think.

"What else?" He said twisting his head against the glass so that he could make out her profile.

"A million volts of artificial lightning can be made in a laboratory by an instrument called a Van de Graaff static electricity generator."

"Huh." He said as he tried to fathom how on earth she knew so much about so many different things. Pops was right; she'd clean up on a game show.

"Booth?"

"Yeah."

"Tell _me_ something about lightning." She moved closer to him, so close that he could smell traces of her perfume and whatever heavenly shampoo she used. _Think, Seeley. Think!_

"Okay. I have something. Florida is the lightning capital of the United States." He announced proudly.

He snuck another look at her. "But, you knew that already, right?"

"Yes."

"Fine, here's something else: lightning bolts travel at speeds of up to 60,000 miles per second."

"Really?"

"Bones, you knew that, too! You don't need to humour me. I'm a big boy; I'm comfortable with the fact that you know more than me about...well almost every subject under the sun."

"You know more about the really important stuff, Booth." She said quietly and before he could ask what she meant, she hit him with another fact.

"A single lightning bolt travels through twisted paths in the air that can be as wide as one of your fingers or from six to ten miles." She turned her head and looked at him.

"So beautiful." He whispered as he watched another burst of light flicker in her brilliant blue-green eyes. He wasn't complimenting Mother Nature on her light show - and he wondered if Bones had realised that. She looked away and he saw her breathing hitch, just a little. Oh yeah, she knew.

"I got another one for ya, Bones: about 71 per cent of all people struck by lightning survive."

"That's more than I thought." She turned back to look at the view outside.

"Close, Bones, but no cigar." He grinned; she was such a terrible liar.

"I don't know what that means."

"It means that I know that you knew about that statistic. You're humouring me again, Bones."

"I am most certainly not 'humouring you'. I didn't know that."

"I know you're lying to me. So why don't you just admit it." He said playfully.

"You don't know anything of the sort. I happen to be telling the truth."

"Okay. Look at me. Look me in the eye and I'll be the judge of whether you're lying or not."

She pulled back from the window and placed her hands on her hips and lifted her eyes to meet his. It took him all of a second to know that he'd read her correctly. She was doing her very best to hold his enquiring stare but she broke first, just as he knew she would, and laughed.

"You think you know me so well, don't you?" She huffed but her tone assured him that she wasn't mad at him.

"I think I know you pretty well, yeah. Well enough to know when you're lying to me."

"So what gave me away? Tonal quality or perhaps it was something about my posture..."

"Hey, a magician doesn't give away his tricks."

She rolled her eyes and tried to look nonchalant but he could tell that it bothered her. She wanted to know his secret.

"It's not just one thing, Bones. Sure, there are a few tell-tale cues that I can easily pick up on but mostly I rely on what I feel. If I want to know if some guy killed his wife and then tossed her off a bridge somewhere, I try and put myself in his position. I try to figure out how he might think or feel if he had to lie to cover up his crime compared to how he might act if he were telling the truth...if he had nothing to hide. Once I have this straight in my mind, I look for behavioural indicators of those thoughts or feelings."

"Give me an example." She said taking in his every word.

"You're not going to let this drop are you? Okay. Come on, let's sit down and I'll try something on you." He followed behind her, his hand placed lightly on her lower back.

He cleared a space on his desk so that there was nothing blocking his view of her. He thought she looked a little nervous, intrigued also, but she was definitely on edge. This was going to be too easy but he wasn't about to let her know that.

"Okay, Bones. Now, I want you to think of something that you don't want me to know and something that you don't care if I know. It has to be something personal, something that you _really _don't want me to know, okay? I want you to tell me both things. You decide whether you tell me the true fact or story first or last."

"How personal does this 'thing' have to be?"

"I'll leave that for you to decide."

"This feels like a trick." She said uncertainly.

"Then don't play." He winked at her. She sat up straight in the chair and placed her hands on the desk. He could see her trying to come up with something to test him with. He knew that she wouldn't back away from a competition.

"You know, Booth, you don't know me as well as you think. Besides, I doubt you've interrogated someone with my intelligence before and clever people make better liars."

She was trying to stare him down or maybe goad him into a game of chicken. Pops was right again – the woman had a pair of steel ovaries. He wondered what it was that she thought she had up her sleeve.

"Sure, smart people, like you for instance, maintain the consistency of lies better than your average Joe, but really all smart people do is drag things out a little longer. Dumb or smart, people crack all the same. So, you got something for me, yet?"

"Don't rush me, Booth."

"Fine. Fine. I'll tell you what; I'll help myself to a popsicle while you think of something."

He bit off the top of the still mostly frozen treat and let the ice melt on his tongue. And he waited. He had the distinct impression that she was sizing him up. She was wondering how far she should go. He knew for certain that her admissions would be sexual in nature because she figured, mistakenly, that he couldn't handle it when she went there. She wanted to unbalance him. He took another bite and he waited some more.

"I'm ready." She said and leaned forward in her chair, trying to show him that she wasn't scared of him, that she felt in control.

"Lay it on me, Bones." He kept his voice even and he too leaned forward, matching her stance.

She waited a beat before speaking. He recognised this for the ploy that it was. She was trying to shock him, hit him with it just when he thought she was going to back out.

"When we first became partners I fantasised about having sex with you on this desk." She said simply. Her voice was clear, colourless and she'd planned it that way.

Her eyes met his and she didn't blink. He could tell that she was torn between tamping down all emotion, eliminating all expression and yet she wanted to know how her words had affected him. And, _damn_, how her words had affected him. But somehow he was able to slip into Special Agent mode – maybe because he wanted to know more, to know if this was the _true _admission or maybe it was because he wanted to prove to her that he was back. That he had regained his balance again. The chicken guy that pulled the wool over his eyes was but a distant memory, a blip against an otherwise flawless record. He wanted her to know this. He wanted her to know that she could trust him to manage this element of their partnership.

Booth ran through his mental checklist. Bones wasn't displaying any of the tell-tale signs common to liars. She wasn't fidgeting or sweating. She wasn't avoiding eye contact. Her pupils weren't dilated and the pitch of her voice had been even.

"What are you thinking?" She asked in that same monotone voice.

"I'm thinking that one of the reasons liars succeed is that the person listening doesn't really want to know the truth. Sometimes we hear what we want to hear."

"Smart - are you telling _me _what I_ want_ to hear, Booth?"

"Maybe. I guess when I work out whether you're lying or not, I'll have my answer and you'll have yours. Bones, tell me more. How many times did you fantasise about fucking me on my desk?" He purposely cursed, hoping to knock her concentration.

"I lost count." He smiled, she was good.

"Fine. Tell me; in your fantasy, were you on top...probably, right?" He registered a flicker of surprise in her eyes but to her credit, she recovered quickly.

"Sometimes. My 'fantasy you' seemed to like it. " Oh, she was _really _good. But he was better. _Interrogation skills 101: push your subject for particulars. The more minutiae a liar has to provide, the more likely they are to slip up and get caught in a lie._

"I want to know when you last thought about me in that way. Did all your fantasies take place at night, when everyone had left for home, or did we go at it day and night? I want to know what fantasies stick out in your mind - what are your favourites. I want details. Tell me everything. "

He listened impassively as she began to speak. He had to hand it to her, she didn't blush once. When she finished he regretted not having listened to every single syllable so that he could play her words back over and over as he lay alone in bed that evening - instead he'd divided his time between listening and watching her. If he was still a betting man, he would bet that she was lying. Not every word was untrue but her statement was essentially a lie. Of course, until he heard her second admission, he wouldn't know for sure.

"Okay, Bones. I have all the information I need. What's the second thing?"

"Can I take a break? I'm entitled to ask for a comfort break, right?"

"Sure. I don't want you claiming police brutality. Can I get you a glass of water?" He said with mock concern.

"No. A Popsicle will be just fine." She almost broke into a smile but recovered at the last moment.

"Are we okay to proceed?" He questioned as she raised the red ice to her lips.

"Yes."

Another flash of lightning temporarily lit his office and he saw that the cherry flavour had bled onto her lips, turning them scarlet. He struggled to keep his focus. "Hit me with it, Bones." He said as assuredly as he could manage.

"The last time I had sex, I spent the entire time thinking about another man." This time there was a definite inflection in her tone. He knew that she was unaware of it.

He could tell that she was uncomfortable maintaining eye contact and he almost let her off the hook...almost. But damn, he wanted to impress her - he was going to confirm her truth and reject her lie and she would know for sure that he was running at full speed again.

He forced himself to ignore the many questions that popped into his head - top of the list: _was the man you were sleeping with, Hacker? _Closely followed by: _are you still sleeping with my boss? _ He got up from his chair and pushed it underneath the desk. Resting his hands at his waist, he tucked his thumbs under the top of his leather belt and ran through his checklist once more. His eyes never left hers.

Ordinarily, if someone was reluctant to make eye contact, it signalled that they were trying to deceive him but he didn't think this was the case with Bones. She didn't want to hold his stare because she was concerned that he would see the truth in her eyes. He wasn't going to ask her if he was that 'other man', he knew he was – this was the truth she couldn't conceal and because of this her admission also had to be true.

He felt as though a piece of him that had been lost suddenly was within his reach. He understood how people worked again. He'd been gaining in confidence in the interrogation room and earlier he'd knocked Angela off balance (something he definitely wasn't proud of) but he knew that if he could read Bones correctly, then he could read anyone.

"I have to hand it to you, Bones, you're a much better liar than I gave you credit for. It was smart to weave in some truth with your lie, it made the whole thing more plausible but I know the answer."

"I know you do. I can read you, too." She said looking at her hands.

The energy between them changed in an instant. He waited a second or two and she looked at him again. She didn't look annoyed, pissed that he'd won their dangerous little game, she looked unsure of herself, exposed, and that's when he knew that he wouldn't push her any further.

She might not love him but he now saw that her attraction to him was still there. Despite everything they had been through, she wanted him too. He wouldn't force her over the line that they'd observed these past years. They both had to want to let go, give in, or it wasn't going to work. They were right back where they started and for the first time in months he felt the stirring, energising, promise of hope.


	8. Those Who Don't Feel This Love

_**AN: Happy 2010! Sorry it's been a few weeks since my last post – blame it on the holidays. By way of an apology, this chapter is almost twice as long as my usual offering. **_____

_**SN: Last time round: Booth interrogated Brennan and found out some interesting things about his partner... **_

_**Much of this chapter deals with what Brennan is feeling as regards to Booth's increasingly obvious attraction to her. Also, I wanted to kick to the curb possible concerns that she's still seeing Hacker! That said: this is still very much Booth's story. **_

_**As ever, I've taken inspiration from one of my favourite poems. See the wonderful words by Rumi below...**_

_**PS: Thanks for reading. Please review...if only to buck up the spirits of a newbie fic writer. I have a stinking cold and am feeling very sorry for myself. **_____

_**PPS: It occurs to me that I haven't issued a disclaimer before now. So, I don't own em...but surely that was obvious. **_

_

* * *

_

Those who don't feel this Love - Jalal ad-Dīn Muhammad Rumi

_  
Those who don't feel this Love  
pulling them like a river,  
those who don't drink dawn  
like a cup of spring water  
or take in sunset like supper,  
those who don't want to change,_

let them sleep.

This Love is beyond the study of theology,  
that old trickery and hypocrisy.  
If you want to improve your mind that way,

sleep on.

I've given up on my brain.  
I've torn the cloth to shreds  
and thrown it away.

If you're not completely naked,  
wrap your beautiful robe of words  
around you,

and sleep.

* * *

The Jeffersonian – Christmas Eve: 

Angela looked up from her busy computer screen and watched as Brennan stalked past her office – she was gone for only a moment, before she reappeared and briskly walked back the other way. She watched her best friend repeat this pattern a few times more before deciding to interrupt.

"Sweetie, what are you doing?"

"Nothing. Why?"

"Well, you're on your way to wearing thin the floor in front of my office and so I wondered if maybe you wanted to talk."

"No. I'm fine."

"Brennan...you're not fine." Angela said her hands on hips.

"I'm demonstrably fine. Why would you think otherwise?" The other woman challenged.

"Well, there's the manic pacing in front of my office thing and also...well, you don't look fine. You look cross, maybe upset and..."

"It's Booth." Brennan said abruptly.

"Of course it is." Angela said, not caring to hide her knowing smile.

"Please don't do that, Angela. Don't second guess what I'm going to say. Things are complicated...I'm not good at this..."

"I'm sorry, Hun." Angela immediately felt mean for her smugness. "Look, come in here. Let's talk, okay?" Angela held open the heavy glass door to her office and Brennan walked inside and took a seat on the sofa.

"It looks like Santa's Grotto in here." Brennan remarked at the myriad fairy lights that adorned the many paintings and photographs hanging on the walls and at the silver and gold tinsel that decorated the edges of filing cabinets and bookshelves. "Is that the same tree?"

Angela followed Brennan's line of sight and then nodded as she watched the holographic Christmas tree glitter and shine, courtesy of virtual Christmas fairy lights. It was the same tree she conjured up a few years before when the team had been forced to spend their Christmas under quarantine in the lab.

"It's beautiful." Brennan said wistfully.

"Okay, Sweetie...spill." She said seriously, taking a seat next to her. Her friend had been on edge for weeks and Angela was relieved that Brennan was finally willing to talk about it. She knew she needed to take care not to push too hard and scare her off, but she needed to know what was going on. Or else how could she help?

"I care about Booth." Brennan said with little hint of any emotion. She was sitting forward on the cushioned seat as if she intended to spring up at any moment and make her escape.

"I know." Angela didn't want to stifle her admission and so muttered a simple agreement.

"Sometimes I think that I feel more than just 'caring' toward him."

"You're attracted to him." Angela said plainly.

"Yes. But that's been the case since we met. There's always been a sexual component to our relationship. Sometimes I think that's what makes us so good at what we do. I'm not explaining this very well, am I?"

"You're making perfect sense, Sweetie. Keep going."

"The other evening I confessed something to him and now I'm worried about what he thinks of me. Angela, I told him that I thought about him in a sexual way." Likely in response to the shocked look on her friend's face, she hurriedly continued. "He was mock interrogating me and..."

"Wait! Booth was _interrogating _you!" Angela couldn't help but smile again. When would those two stop playing games and have a real conversation.

"It was an experiment. I wanted to know if he could tell if I was lying and so I told him one true thing and one false thing and he worked out which was the lie. I want to learn how he does it. I mean it makes no rational sense but he does something in that interrogation room, he reads people...people who do everything in their power to hide the truth from him, and I want to understand it."

Before Angela had a chance to respond, Brennan continued in the same fevered tone.

"I've tried to accept that this is what he does. I have my areas of expertise and Booth his, but I can't let it go. What he does defies logic - I can only surmise that he operates on another level of consciousness, and that makes no sense. Ange, I _don't even believe_ in another level of consciousness! Well, apart from medicated levels of consciousness, or as a result of alterations in the chemical environment of the brain, or brain injury which affects the cerebral hemispheres or the reticular activating system...and so what should I make of my conclusions? I'm not making sense, am I? You see why I'm such a mess!?"

"Sweetie, take a breath, okay." Angela reached out and rested her hand on Brennan's shoulder. She could feel the tension radiating from her body.

"I don't understand him. I know I struggle with people...to...relate to them, but with Booth, I want to do better. I sense it's important that I do so."

"You sense it?" Angela said trying not to let the disbelief she felt show on her face. Since when did her resolutely rational best friend admit to 'sensing' anything!

"I feel it, I suppose. I want to learn how to know him...all of him. Lately, I've come to wonder if I'll ever be truly happy unless I do. But now I've gone and ruined things." Brennan said quietly.

"How have you ruined things? What did you confess...maybe that you thought about him naked? Hey, what 'right' thinking woman hasn't? Jesus, the man managed to hot, dressed in nothing but boxers and a lab coat earlier!"

"It's worse than that. I told...I told him that the last time I had sex, I thought about him the entire time."

Angela was very rarely lost for words but this was one of those times. Finally, after many seconds of silence, she managed: "You told Booth _that_?"

"Not in so many words...um, not directly. But _he knew_ I was talking about him."

"Wow, Sweetie! That was one hell of a mock-interrogation. I do have one question though: who was it you were sleeping with when you were imagining Booth? Was it his boss, the one you went out for drinks with, remember, because..._drinks with Booth couldn't lead to sex_...Packer something or other?"

"You mean Assistant Director Hacker. No, Andrew and I were never intimate. It never got that far. We agreed to remain friends."

"So, who was it then?"

"It was Mark."

"Mark?"

"You remember: the deep-sea welder...the one with the impressive quadriceps and pectoral muscles?"

"Oh yeah, I remember. Wait! That was months and months ago. Are you saying that's the last time you had sex?"

"Yes." Brennan said shyly and Angela wondered why she was being so coy. It just wasn't like her.

"Sweetie, you poor thing - you must be beyond frustrated. My stint at celibacy was the hardest thing I've ever done and I only held out for six months." Brennan remained mute and Angela figured she didn't want to be pushed on the reasons behind her lack of a sex life. She went with a different thought. "So, you thought about Booth when you were in the sack with Mark...it's no biggie. Plenty of people fantasise about another person when they're having sex. Hey, there have been a couple of occasions for me when that's the only thing that's made the experience worthwhile!"

"What am I going to do, Ange?" Brennan slumped back in the chair – for the moment, her flight response disengaged.

"So Booth knows that you thought about him when you were 'doing' the deep-sea driller, it's not..."

"Deep-sea welder, he didn't drill." Brennan corrected.

"I beg to differ...anyway, that's not the point. What's important is that Booth knowing is not the end of the world. I'll bet he's thought about you more than once in that way."

"Do you think so?"

"Come on - he's so hot for you, it's ridiculous."

Angela waited for her friend's inevitable and well-practiced denial but it didn't come.

"Brennan...?"

"He once told me that I was structured very well. Did I ever tell you that?"

"No. When was this?" When she didn't respond, Angela pushed on a little more insistently. "Sweetie, what's going on?"

"Recently we've been having these moments. Do you remember that night at the museum...when I gave that speech? Well, shortly before that, we were alone with the exhibit and I'm not sure how it happened, but Booth nearly kissed me. As he moved towards me I was naturally aroused...but I was also scared at the same time. I'm not sure why. I don't usually experience fear in those moments."

"I think I know why." Angela said softly, soon realising that Brennan wasn't listening.

"Angela, I don't want him to think that sex is all I'm interested in. In the past, I've extolled the virtues of keeping relationships temporary and I still believe that monogamy, as a concept, is flawed...but lately I can't imagine being with anyone other than Booth."

"Booth knows that your feelings run deeper than that."

"How could he, when I've only just begun to make sense of how I feel? Understanding the biology behind feelings of love comes easily to me but I want to understand love in the way that you do, in the way that Booth does. You know, it's been postulated that the human capacity to experience love has been evolved as a signal to potential mates that a particular partner will be a good parent and is likely to help pass genes to future generations. I believe that this may be true and, yet, I don't_ feel_ that it is. I want to believe that love is more enigmatic than that. I want to believe that love is intangible and abstruse but how can I, when intellectually I can explain away my feelings as simply biology?"

"So your brain is getting in the way?" Angela asked kindly.

"Booth once told me that I should put my brain in neutral and pop my heart in overdrive. I want to do that, but I can't."

"Maybe you need more time." She offered, not knowing what else to say.

"Maybe." Brennan sighed.

Angela sensed that there was more that worried her friend. "Sweetie...is there something else?"

Brennan waited a beat before speaking. "I can't stop wondering about Booth's motivations for wanting to kiss me."

"I'd ask if you were kidding, but you don't do that." Angela shook her head disbelievingly. Again, Brennan wasn't listening - the hyper rational scientist was busy trying to make sense of it all.

"I don't think he wanted to kiss me because he's attracted to me...yes, that's part of it, but knowing him, it would mean more than that. Booth is always telling me that sex is about more than just the physical act itself and so I would surmise that kissing someone is also something that he doesn't consider to be truly worthwhile, unless there's an emotional attachment of some kind. But I believe that sex_ can _be very satisfying without there being an emotional connection in place and so, by extension, that kissing someone for whom you feel only physical attraction can also be a pleasing experience."

Brennan seemed to stall at this point, as though her voice couldn't keep pace with her thoughts. Angela wanted to give her friend time to regroup but she had to ask.

"Why do you think Booth wanted to kiss you?"

"Booth wouldn't risk kissing me unless he felt an emotional connection..."

"Brennan...? She tried again.

"He wouldn't want to jeopardise our working relationship, our partnership, for a simple kiss that spoke of nothing more than attraction."

"Right, so what does that tell you, Sweetie?" Angela prompted, not quite believing where their conversation was headed.

"That Booth wants to kiss me for reasons other than simple attraction. That he's evaluated the pro's and con's involved and considers kissing me worth the risk."

"And how do you feel about that?" Angela asked simply.

"I guess I want to know why he's thinking about taking that risk. Why now? He's the one who said there needed to be a line. Are all the reasons that were pertinent to his thinking back then, now unimportant?"

"Maybe he can't maintain the distance between you any longer. Maybe he doesn't want the line to be there anymore."

"That doesn't give him the right to step over it." Brennan countered hotly.

"Brennan, you're not being fair. You've just as good as told me that _you_ don't want that line to be there anymore and so why are you being so hard on Booth for wanting the same thing? A person doesn't decide when to fall in love, it just happens. Love sneaks up on you and that's just the way it is."

"You think Booth loves me?"

"You don't?" Angela asked, again with some measure of disbelief.

"I can't be sure of that. Maybe he loves her...he might not love _me_, not really."

"I don't understand...is there someone else?"

"No, it's not like that. Ange...I can't be sure which _'me'_ he wants."

Angela heard the tremor in her voice and she reached for her friend's hand, hoping to calm her. "Okay, now you've really lost me."

"I wonder if he wants the woman in my book, the woman in his dream, or if it's me that he wants..._the real me_? I...I need to know that he sees the truth of me."

"Oh, Sweetie, is that what you think...that he only wants you now because of his coma-dream?"

"That's just it - I don't know! Sometimes I look at him and wonder which version of me he sees. And if I can wonder something like that, then so can he."

Before Angela could even try and formulate an answer, Hodgins knocked once on the glass door and then rushed into her office.

"Um, Jack...we're kinda having a private conversation here." She hoped the warning look she gave him would scare him off but he didn't even seem to register her words.

"Dr. Brennan, I found something. You're going to want to see this!" Hodgins said excitedly as he leaned forward onto his toes and then rested back again. He repeated the action. Angela knew that he found it hard to stay still when he was worked up about something.

"Is it the Jackrabbit case?" Brennan said as she got up from the sofa.

"Yeah. You want me to call Booth?"

"Um...no...I'll call him. Explain your findings to me first and then I'll call Booth."

"Sweetie, we'll talk again later, okay?" Angela queried, as Brennan followed Hodgins to the door. Before she could press her friend for a response, the phone on her desk stared to ring. She rushed to pick it up and by the time she raised the receiver to her ear, Brennan was hurrying away.

* * *

Later that day - The Jeffersonian Parking Lot:

Booth pulled into his usual spot in the underground parking lot of the Jeffersonian Institute. He stilled the engine but wasn't in a hurry to exit the vehicle. He couldn't believe the day wasn't over yet, when so much had happened already. True to form, things had started well enough but then the inevitable chaos descended.

He'd collected Parker from Rebecca's just before eight a.m. Booth would happily have made it over there earlier but he knew the little boy wouldn't be awake much before then. The morning stretched out in front of them and Booth had wanted to fill the time making up for the fact that he wouldn't see his son on Christmas Day. Who the hell went to Quebec for Christmas, anyway?!

First they'd stopped by the Diner for scrambled eggs on toast and after enjoyed two hot chocolate drinks with all the fixings as they watched the last minute shoppers hurry back and forth in front of the large window. Booth thought about the way Parker had tripped over his words in his haste to tell him all about his last day at school, while he resisted the urge to wipe the whipped cream from his son's top lip. He knew if he had so much as reached for a napkin and made a move towards him, Parker would argue that he was old enough to clean his own face. And so he sat and listened and managed to ignore that a smudge of melted chocolate added another texture and colour to his boy's beautiful, smiling face.

After they finished their drinks, they had done some eleventh-hour shopping of their own. Parker wanted to buy a gift for Bones and so Booth patiently walked round store after crowded store until, finally, the 'perfect' gift was found. Parker wanted to go ice skating after that and Booth had spent the rest of their time together happily chasing his son around on the ice.

That was a mere eight hours ago, when, to Booth, it felt like whole days had passed by since then. Maybe almost getting blown up did that to a person?! The really crazy thing was that narrowly avoiding being obliterated into tiny chunks wasn't his priority right now. She was.

He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension he felt there. His head felt heavy, his tired mind overloaded with innumerable images and questions - soon his thoughts coalesced into a fuzzy kind of noise. Booth closed his eyes and fought hard to think a single, clear, uninterrupted thought. But when that thought came, he cursed it: _"The last time I had sex, I spent the entire time thinking about another man."_

He'd lost count of the number of times he'd played back her admission. She'd thought about him when she was with some other guy. Great! He wasn't sure if he should be over the moon that she thought about him that way or mad and jealous as hell that some other man had taken her to bed. But what was truly messing with his head was that he didn't know if she had been referring to past events or if she was currently seeing someone.

If the latter, Booth prayed that that other man wasn't Hacker. He wasn't a bad guy, but...fuck! Why did she have to get involved with his boss - his 'boss's, boss', no less. Besides, Hacker wasn't her type...wait, did Bones even have a type? The Assistant Director was decent and clearly successful but the man was manifestly dull. Bones needed a challenge and Hacker just wasn't up to the job. She'd walk all over him, Assistant Director of the FBI, or not.

Booth jumped at the sound of someone tapping on the front passenger window. He turned to see Angela grinning at him. He turned the key one click and then operated the electric window so he could hear her.

"Hey, Booth - you planning on sitting out here all night?"

He chose to ignore her question. "Bones says Hodgins found something."

"That he did." Replied the petite artist as she riffled though her large purse for her car keys.

"Are you done for the day?" Booth asked.

"Yeah." Angela's sigh carried more than a hint of exasperation. "You know, it's coming up on 8 o'clock on Christmas Eve night...Christmas Eve, Booth?"

"And your point is?" He asked as he checked to make sure that his cell phone rested in his jacket pocket.

"That some of us actually have a social life and those that don't should take a lesson. Having a social life – no, a sex life, if we're going to be frank about it, is a good thing. In fact, _you and Brennan_ should try it some time."

The woman was relentless. "So, where are you and Wendell headed tonight?" He shot back good-naturedly. He didn't want to talk about Bones, just as she didn't care to talk about Wendell.

"Fine. Be like that!" She pouted. Booth smiled and tapped the button on the steering wheel to the right of his hand - the window slid back up. He climbed out of the shiny black Cruiser and walked around the car to meet her. He operated the central locking on his key fob and the resulting double-beep resounded in the near empty lot. They smiled at each other.

"Just promise me one thing, Booth – make sure she eats. All I've seen pass her lips since this morning, is coffee."

"I promise. We'll order in." Booth walked Angela to her car and held the driver door open as she climbed in.

"Woo hoo, take-out and dead bodies. How very festive! You know sometimes I wonder if you two aren't just perfect for each other." He smiled - Angela obviously couldn't help herself.

"Be good, Ange." Booth said as he closed the car door.

He watched her drive to the exit and then he was all alone. Apart from the whirring noise coming from the many ventilation shafts overhead, the parking lot was quiet. He thought about getting back into the Cruiser but he knew he couldn't stall for much longer. He had to face her at some point. Besides, Bones was the one who'd confessed that she'd thought about him in that way. What did he have to feel bashful about? _Nothing, that's what, Seeley...now get in there._

Booth swiped his card through the reader and jogged up the steps to the forensics platform. Her back was to him as she listened to Hodgins explaining something in a language that Booth couldn't believe was English. She must have heard him approach but she didn't turn around. He took the opportunity to take an unhurried look at her long denim-clad legs and the way the curve of her hips led to the narrowing of her waist – he finally directed his gaze upon the alabaster skin of the back of her neck. She was perfection.

"Bones, what've you got for me?" He said as evenly as he could.

"I have nothing - Hodgins is the one who found something." She said finally turning around.

"Okay...what has Hodgins got for me?" He asked patiently. She didn't seem to be able to look him in the eye. Booth found her obvious shyness completely endearing, it was a side of her he'd rarely seen.

"It's better that he explains it. I...wouldn't want to...um...misrepresent his findings." She stammered.

"I'm sure you'll do fine." He said softly and took a step towards her. She looked at him then and Booth stopped dead in his tracks. She was looking at him with a raw, honest intensity that made him physically ache for her. He held his breath - not wanting to make the slightest movement, for fear she would look away again. _Don't run from this. Don't look away..._ She didn't.

The seconds ticked by. Booth continued to hold her stare - there was no way in hell he was going to break first. He'd wanted her to look at him in this way for so long now. It was strange, he thought, only a few hours ago in this very building, she had stripped him down to his underwear, and yet, this was the most sexually-charged moment they'd ever shared.

"Um...dude, you know, I'm right here – you could just ask me."

The spell was broken and Booth could have cheerfully throttled the bug man. He tamped down his frustration. "Right. Good. Hodgins, tell me what you have."

"With pleasure, Agent Booth." The curly haired entomologist replied with a grin.

Booth sensed Hodgins was enjoying himself, and he couldn't blame the guy - he and Bones were behaving like a couple of anxious teenagers on a first date.

"It's like I was just explaining to Dr. Brennan: I thought that the fragment of white nylon polymer we pulled from the first victim, Heather Franks, had to have come from her, even though it didn't match any of the clothing found on the body. You see, I found a matching fibre on the second victim, Carrie-Ann Kennedy, which likely came from the schoolbag she was seen carrying on the day she disappeared, and so I assumed that the fibre found on victim one was from a similar type of bag. Listed in the missing items belonging to Heather Franks was a white knapsack and so I figured that at some point she became separated from her bag...perhaps as a result of a struggle with her killer."

"That makes sense." Booth said as he took out his notebook and pen.

"But earlier when I was going back over the evidence found at the scene of the last murder, I discovered a microscopic fragment of the same type of fibre on the shirt worn by the fourth victim, Maisy Novak. It didn't match anything she was wearing on the day she disappeared. Alarm bells started to ring and so I checked the case file. In the list her parents provided, there is no mention of Maisy leaving the house with a bag of any kind. Besides which, we know that she wasn't carrying a schoolbag that day because..." Hodgins said his face flushed with excitement.

"...it was a Sunday!" Booth finished at the same time.

"Precisely! Maisy was taken on a Sunday. She wasn't carrying a schoolbag. I shouldn't have dismissed the fibres so easily."

"Booth, Hodgins couldn't know that it was important. Nylon fibres are used in many applications, including fabrics, carpets and musical strings....really, the list is endless...it's only when now coupled with a similar find that cannot be easily explained, that the presence of the fibre takes on greater significance." Brennan said trying to reassure the entomologist.

"Nylon is also used to make rope, right?" Booth questioned.

"Yes." Hodgins replied. "And this is where it get's interesting."

"Interesting to someone of the squint persuasion...or to a normal person?" Booth sighed.

"Come on, man...stay with me." Hodgins grinned and began to type away on the keyboard in front of him. "The fragment I found on Maisy's shirt came from a rope..."

"So, I was right?" Booth interjected, tapping his pen on the steel table that separated him and Brennan.

"Yes...okay...but it wasn't just any type of rope."

Booth walked around the table and stood next to Brennan so that he could examine the pictures that flashed up on the large flat screen monitor. The pictures of various types of rope gave way to lists of numbers and chemical symbols...it made Booth's head hurt just looking at it.

"Okay, first I noticed something was different about the weave of the fibre – it had a Kernmantle construction. Climbing ropes have a Kernmantle construction – essentially, this type of design supplies most of the rope's strength. But I was able to narrow it down further: our fibre contains no elastic capability...meaning that it most likely came from a static rope, such as that used by cavers or those dudes that repel down skyscrapers in Dubai, or it could have come from a rescue rope."

"Go on." Booth said seriously as he scribbled in his notebook.

"Then I found something else." The scientist paused for effect. Something HUGE!"

"Hodgins...so help me..." Booth growled.

"Okay...so I also found trace residue of a translucent white viscous paste on a section of the fibre, which turned out to be an amorphous fumed, silica-thickened, polysiloxane-based compound." Hodgins, sensing that the agent was about to explode, started talking even faster. "This is more commonly known as silicone grease, which is itself widely used by the plumbing industry in faucets and seals as well as dental equipment. Finally, I double-checked to see if the fibre taken from Maisy's shirt was congruent with those found on the first two victims...we got a match!" He paused to take a much needed breath.

Booth finished writing and looked over his notes – his heart was beating fast. _Please let this be the break we've been waiting for!_

"Okay, for those of us who aren't card-carrying members of the 'Brain Trust'...let's recap. A) The fibres found on the first two victims are a match to a fibre found on the last victim; B) those fibres are likely to have come from a static or rescue climbing rope, and; C) the fibre found on the last victim's shirt shows traces of silicone grease, which is commonly used in the plumbing industry."

He paused and looked up to see both Brennan and Hodgins nodding in the affirmative. Booth took another breath. "Conclusion: the fibres you found had to have come from the person who abducted the girls."

Hodgins attempted to clarify. "I can confidently state that the fibres were not from their clothing or from items the three victims had with them at the time of their abduction."

"That's what I just said." Booth sighed, scratching the light stubble on his chin, the itching reminding him of the late hour and the fact that he needed a shave.

"No, you _didn't _'just say that'. And, at _no_ time _did I say_ that the fibres had to have come from the abductor - they could have come from a different source." Hodgins countered irritably.

"What other source!?" Booth said the volume of his voice just shy of a yell. He held the black pen out in front of him, as though he was contemplating jabbing the other man with it.

"Booth!" Brennan said firmly and took the would-be-weapon from him.

"Fine...I'm sorry I misquoted you, Hodgins. I alone made that unscientific leap. Bones, can I have my pen back now?" He finished sheepishly.

"Only if you promise to use it for good, not evil." Brennan smiled at him.

"Funny." He grinned back, and then somehow they got lost all over again. She was looking at him so intently and he had no place to hide. He was close enough to wonder just how very easy it would be to reach out and take her hand. The urge to touch her was so powerful. He opened and closed his right hand...did he dare?

"Ah hum...so, I'll be going then." Hodgins coughed as he powered down the computer.

Booth had forgotten that the bug man was still there. _Jesus, Seeley – get a grip!_ "Yeah...I better get going, too." He said as he walked briskly towards the steps that lead up to the platform. "Look, Hodgins, you've given us a viable lead...really, thanks, man."

"No problem, Booth." Hodgins replied genuinely as he waited for the monitor to switch off and turn black.

Booth chanced another look at Brennan as he pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket and started dialling. She was leafing through the case file Hodgins had left on the steel table. Her face was still slightly flushed and she was breathing faster than was normal...or maybe that was just a figment of his overactive imagination.

"Bones, I'm taking this back to the Bureau. I'll meet you at the Church tomorrow morning, okay?"

She nodded, not looking at him, just as his call connected. "Boss." A male voice said, and then paused – as if waiting further instruction before saying anything else.

"O'Hanlon, we've got something. I'm coming over now."

* * *

_**AN: I'm not certain if the last man Brennan slept with was Mark...I think it was...there's been no one else since, right? **_


	9. Words, Wide Night

_**AN: Thanks so much for reading and reviewing! **_

_**This, my longest chapter to date, was loads of fun to write (please note: 'fun' doesn't necessarily equal 'fluffy', not in my world) – it's my favourite so far. **_

_**Reviews make my day – really, they do! **_

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**_

_

* * *

_

_**Words, Wide Night – Carol Ann Duffy**_

_Somewhere on the other side of this wide night  
and the distance between us, I am thinking of you.  
The room is turning slowly away from the moon._

_This is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and say  
it is sad? In one of the tenses I singing  
an impossible song of desire that you cannot hear._

_La lala la. See? I close my eyes and imagine the dark hills I would have to cross  
to reach you. For I am in love with you_

_and this is what it is like or what it is like in words. _

* * *

Rosslyn, Virginia: December 31st

He instinctively reached behind him and grabbed her hand as they struggled up the steep muddy bank; their slow and clumsy progress hampered by ice-cold driving rain and near gale force winds. His calf and thigh muscles screamed in response at the level of incline and he wondered if Bones was struggling too. If she was, she hid it well. They had veered off the well-trodden path of the Potomac Heritage Trail twenty minutes ago and since then; the going had been more than tough. His boot slipped against the covering of wet leaves and mud and he gripped her hand tighter. He couldn't be sure but he thought he heard her laugh.

As they approached the top of the climb, many exhausting minutes later, Booth heard raised voices and the monotone whirring of heavy machinery. Suddenly he stopped and let go of her hand. He heard Bones let out an annoyed "oof" as she slammed into the back of him. He'd registered movement in the thick brush of trees to their left. He quickly planted his feet firmly in the mud and reached inside his heavy waterproof coat for his gun. Then, stilling his hand on his weapon, he watched, momentarily stunned, as a deer bolted from the shadow of the trees and ran across their path, not more than five feet in front of them. The animal was obviously spooked by the noise of the machinery and people - as it ran for the cover of the trees on the opposite side of the bank, it leapt high over a large fallen branch before disappearing.

"Don't shoot the deer, Booth." Brennan said sarcastically as she reached his side.

"Did you see how high that thing jumped?" He panted. _How could she not be more out of breath – he could barely see straight?_

"If I'm not mistaken, that was a Whitetail Deer – it has a vertical leap of nine feet."

"No kidding?"

"No. I'm not kidding." She said confused.

His amused chuckle was lost to the sound of the wind that whipped and thrashed all about them. "Come on, we're nearly there." Booth wanted to take her hand again but he saw that the ground evened out not far ahead and so he really had no excuse to do so.

At the top, Booth took in a long, steadying breath. He needed to prepare himself for what awaited them a few feet ahead. What he wanted most in the world right then was to turn around and run, or, as was more likely, slide on his ass in the other direction, but instead he walked on and was soon swallowed into the chaos. He recalled Sweets' words as they approached the large crime scene tent: _"You need look upon a task as a challenge, a puzzle to be solved..." _He flashed his badge at the two officers standing guard outside and then, taking care to step over the ventilation hose, they ducked inside. The noise of the heavy rain increased significantly once they were undercover but he didn't mind, it helped to block out the sound of the generators. The smell was borderline unbearable but as usual Bones appeared not to notice. He would never get used to it.

Booth checked his watch – only two and a half hours had passed since he'd dropped Parker off at Rebecca's place – now he was here. It was a bitter end to what had been, for the most part, a happy day. Parker was back from Quebec and that afternoon they had made chocolate cupcakes (not from scratch, but from one of those Betty Crocker type all-in-one boxes) and watched a double-header of "Home Alone" movies. As was the case every year, his son had a hard time accepting that Christmas was over and Booth had learned the hard way that you didn't 'de-Christmas' anything until Parker started back at school. So even though the small tree Booth had decorated two weeks before was shedding pine needles all over the living room floor – many of which were destined to stick to the bottom of his socks and prick at him until he was hopping round the room like a man possessed – the tree would stay put for another week. After polishing off the cakes and suitably stuffed to the brim with Chris Columbus-type-glee, they had stopped by the aquarium before heading back to Rebecca's apartment.

As he stood there trying to block out the noise of the rain and the gut-wrenching smell, he didn't see how it was possible that the two events were not separated by anything more substantial than time. He sighed and took in the scene in front of him. _Remember what Sweets told you... You've been in tight spots before and so you know you can do this. You know that you possess the skills to get through this. Be confident. Take control. Do your goddamned job, Seeley! _

There were maybe fifteen people in the tent. Everyone present had a job to do and he would take care not to impede their progress. He was there to take charge but knew that the best thing he could do was hold back and let the experts process the scene. This stage of the investigation was the meeting point of science and law and he knew where he was most useful.

Despite what people saw on television, he knew that processing a crime scene was a long, tedious process that involved purposeful documentation of the conditions at the scene and the collection of any physical evidence that could potentially lead to an arrest. There was no such thing as a typical crime scene, no typical body of evidence and therefore no typical investigative approach. Booth didn't take easily to driving on the wrong side of the street – his meltdown in rush hour London traffic was evidence of that – but he was 'adaptable' when it counted.

Bones brushed past him, eager to get to work but he stayed put and reached inside his coat for his notebook and pen.

"Special Agent Booth?"

He nodded in the affirmative as a petite red haired woman approached.

"Hello. I'm Dr. Gina Kelper, Primary Crime Scene Responder." He shook her hand.

"So, what've we got here?" He half shouted over the din of the rain.

"My initial walk-through of the core area showed that apart from minor disruption of some branches and some scuffing up of the loose bark and soil around the body, the guy who discovered her doesn't appear to have compromised the scene. Here's a copy of my initial notes as regards potential evidence."

Booth took the rough collection of notes from her and continued to listen, nodding when she answered questions he had yet to ask.

"I documented the scene – sketches and overview, mid-range and close up photographs will be sent over to your office ASAP. No video walk-through, I'm afraid, because the damn camera and the backup camera both crapped out on us. I've tagged, bagged and logged all potential evidence but I was ordered to wait for your forensics expert to get here before moving on to process the body."

"You get warrants?" He questioned in shorthand as he made quick but careful notes.

"Yep. Called the DA and he called the Judge – all in all, he was surprisingly helpful. Of course it might have something to do with your partner over there"; she motioned to Bones who was kneeling next to the body, carefully sifting through some damp leaves. "He's quite the fan. He actually came down here in person, he's around somewhere."

"Great." Booth said under his breath. "Witness list?" He enquired.

"Here you go." She handed him a list of 3 names. "The guy who discovered the body is called George Jackson, 54, of Rosslyn. He says he was hiking and took a wrong turn and came across the body at approximately 15:00 hours. I've also got a couple of guys waiting for you from the National Park Service – they were next on the scene after Mr. Jackson. He called the Parks office after calling us and they rushed up here. They had the presence of mind to hold umbrellas over the body until our people could get here but it's been raining on and off for a couple of weeks and so who knows what damage has been done. I've not spoken to the witnesses – the person you want to update you about that side of things is, um, a Detective Kane." She said consulting her own notebook.

Booth nodded, grateful for her experience. Kelper was right to have kept her distance - she wasn't a trained interviewer - she was there to deal with the physical evidence alone. It was the job of the police to apprise her of any relevant information gleaned from witness accounts.

"There's a significant amount of insect activity on and around the body. Our forensic entomologist has collected samples but I understand that someone else is to manage the analysis?"

"Yeah, Hodg... Dr. Hodgins of the Jeffersonian will assist."

"Okay. So, as I've not been cleared to move the body, that's all I can tell you at this stage."

"Thank you, Dr Kelper." He shook her hand for a second time and then thanked her again when she helpfully pointed out the equally diminutive figure of Detective Kane. Booth cast a quick look at Bones but she was engrossed in her preliminary examination of the body and didn't need him. He sought out the detective to begin his next round of questions.

Close to half an hour later, Booth made his way back over to Brennan. As though she could discern that it was his muffled footsteps that sounded on the damp leaves that carpeted the ground, she stood to face him. She swiped the back of her gloved hand across her forehead in a vain attempt to swat away wisps of hair that had fallen free of her ponytail. Without a thought for who might be watching or what indeed she might think about his chosen course of action, he reached out and gently gathered her hair between his fingers and tucked the soft strands behind her ear. As soon as he moved his hand away he realised what he'd done. He fully expected her to chastise him for his lack of professionalism and worse, for assuming that he could touch her in that way, but she muttered a hurried and a barely audible "thank you" before turning away from him and kneeling down once again.

"Um...what you got for me, Bones?" He said desperately trying to inject a measure of calmness into his tone, calmness that he certainly did not feel.

"As per protocol, I've taken a body versus an ambient temp reading but as you know, I'm not comfortable predicting the estimated time of death using this method." As if he'd argued the toss with her, she continued to labour her point. "Time of death determinations are _extremely _unreliable...the human body is unpredictable and there are too many variables involved...and so..."

"Bones, I got it. Just record the information, that's all, okay?"

"Fine. Cam can attend to fingerprints in the lab. I need to turn her over now, okay?"

"Yes." Booth motioned for a couple of techs who were standing by to assist her. He watched in horror as the body fell apart in their hands, bones detached fully from the scarce remnants of flesh - he wasn't proud of himself, but he turned away.

"What are your early thoughts, Bones?" He asked automatically, his years of training and experience kicked in without him really being present in the moment.

"I would estimate she is between 14 and 20 years. There are signs of blunt force abdominal trauma resulting in several concomitant injuries. There are also indicators of blunt force trauma to the skull – several cranial bones are fractured."

Booth could hear the strain in her voice as she continued to catalogue the horror before them. To the uneducated observer she was all business, but he knew that she was disgusted and scared by what she saw. Without her needing to say it out loud, he knew that the pathetic collection of bones and flesh at their feet represented another Jackrabbit victim. He just knew it. Suddenly he was so mad he couldn't see straight. He was mad because he knew Bones was hating every moment that she spent touching what remained of a life, he was mad for the poor girl and the people she loved but mostly, he was mad at himself for not catching up with the twisted fuck that had brought this hell on all of them.

Since Christmas Eve night, he'd assigned more agents to the case and they had spent the intervening time making hundreds of enquiries as a result of the fibres Hodgins had found. But the lead was weak. Knowing that the murderer used a distinct type of rope and that he'd come into contact with silicone grease at some point would help once the case went to trial but it wasn't going to break the case for them. It just wasn't. He knew Bones took issue with him on this point but in his experience, it was good old fashioned police work that caught you your killer. Running down leads, asking thousands of questions, getting inside the victims' heads, picking apart witness accounts and analysing every gesture, every word, spoken by members of the victims' families and their friends – this is what caught you your killer. What did this add up to? It added up to the fact that he needed to do more!

Booth held his pen tight in his hand, not yet fully in control of his anger. His head felt like it was being squeezed from every possible angle – he didn't feel pain so much as crushing pressure. The light surrounding him dimmed and he felt himself becoming less defined, less solid. He couldn't feel the pen in his hand anymore. Had he dropped it? Even the cloyingly sickly smell of death didn't register. Bones was talking to him but he couldn't let her words in, not yet. He forced himself to look down again, cursing at what he saw. He knew that he wasn't responsible for the death of the poor girl that lay broken and ruined at his feet but that didn't stop him whispering an apology to her in his head.

"Booth?" A faint light burned in front of his eyes. She was still talking to him.

"Yeah." The word came from some place he didn't know, some place he couldn't touch. Was it his voice? Did he just speak? He resisted the pull of the light.

"Booth? Booth?"

Maybe he hadn't spoken. A feeling of weightlessness began to settle over him and he welcomed it. When, next, the dark began to creep towards him he found he wasn't scared, not like he'd been that time in Angela's office. He didn't try to fight it. He didn't try to breathe. The blackness thickened and swirled around him; it seeped into his skin and poured into his throat. Soon he would be nothing but blackness.

A white band of light encircled his wrist. It felt warm against his skin and it stopped him, dead, just before he lost himself to the dark.

"Booth! Answer me! You're scaring me..._please_!"

The warm feeling penetrated his chest and he felt the band tighten and then pull him towards something...or maybe towards somewhere? He felt heavier all of a sudden and just when he thought he'd be pulled along forever, never to settle again, he felt something hard pressing against his palm. He focused in on the sensation. He concentrated hard on what that feeling was. A pen! _It's your pen!_ He then became aware of many things all at once. The rain on the roof of the tent sounding loudly in his ears, the intermittent flickering of the bright unnatural light, the sound of voices and then...her.

Bones was facing him, she was standing so close he could smell her perfume – _you smell like Christmas and vacations and hope... _He was back. He looked down at her hand holding his wrist and he smiled. She was the light.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." He answered shakily. He saw the concern etched on her face and knew for sure that she didn't believe him. Bones looked like she was about to question him again but maybe sensing that he would offer the same answer, she thankfully let him off the hook.

"I've done all I can here. I should get back to the lab." She snapped off her gloves and placed them into a fresh evidence bag. "Do you have more to do, or can we get going?"

"No. I'm done." Booth confirmed as he desperately tried to appear unshaken, normal.

They updated Detective Kane and Dr. Kelper as to their preliminary findings before gratefully leaving the tent. The rain flashed hard into their faces as they eased their way back down the muddy slope. Booth directed his flashlight at the ground in front of them as they inched their way downwards. It was proving difficult to keep on track when the unrelenting wind appeared to be doing its best to steer them off course and, as was case now, clear off their feet. This time Bones lost her footing and as Booth reached out and tried to steady her, he too lost his balance and together they landed on the muddy ground and slid a few feet down the bank.

"Fuck!" He shouted as he lifted up onto his elbows. He wasn't hurt, just shocked and majorly pissed. "You okay, Bones?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Are you hurt?" Her voice carried over to him. She was close.

"I'm good but the flashlight didn't make it." He groused as he flicked the "on" switch back and forwards, to no avail.

"Hey, Booth!" She shouted as they climbed to their feet in the near pitch black darkness.

"Yeah?"

"It's at times like this that I wonder why I ever agreed to work with the FBI." He caught her amused tone and he smiled.

"Hey, it's at times like this that I wonder it, too." His bad mood was gone in an instant.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She shot back before coming to stand by his side.

"It means that you caused us to fall over. You're clearly very clumsy...not FBI material, at all."

"Ha! You almost fell earlier." She reminded him as they started back down the bank.

"Not true. I have stealthy cat-like reflexes and balancing ability."

"Of course you do. That's why you wanted to hold my hand on the climb up." She teased.

"I held your hand for your sake. I was steadying you, to stop _you_ falling."

"I have excellent balance. Remember when I did the hire-wire act – that's proof!"

"Bones, you fell off the wire and crashed into the net. Remember?" He said laughing as she playfully shoved into him.

"Whoa...careful! You'll have us over again in a minute...clumsy lady."

They eventually made it down and picked up the main trail again. They were still far short of the Parks Office, which is where Booth had parked the SUV. But at least the going was much easier and the rain had lessened into a light drizzle. His eyes had adjusted fully to the darkness and he took the opportunity to look at her. From the side of her he could see: her jeans were caked in mud, as was her waterproof jacket. The shadowy section on her cheek was probably mud also. Her hair was crazy and she even appeared to have mud on her nose. _I love you. I love you. I love you._

The path narrowed as they approached a section of trees ahead. He continued to match her steady walking pace and he soon became lost in his own thoughts. Then, suddenly, he felt her lean in close and whisper in his ear.

"Hey, Booth...you scared?"

He smiled. Sometimes she was just as much of a big kid as he was.

"Nope. Why?"

"Well, it's dark and we're in the middle of a scary forest...at night...and...WOOOOO!" She warbled loudly as she grabbed him.

"Bones! You are_ so_ lame." He grinned as she fell about laughing.

"Admit it, you're scared? You hate walking through a scary forest at night." She continued to laugh as the darkness became more oppressive – the thick cover of trees eliminating almost every trace of light.

"I'm a trained sniper. I've been to war. I'm an FBI Agent. I'm not scared, Bones...but maybe you are?" He finished mischievously.

"Hardly." She sniffed.

"No...I'm onto something. You're scared but instead of acknowledging that to yourself, you're projecting your fear onto me. It's classic transference!"

"Great, so now you're channelling Sweets. You're Seeley Sweets. Hey! That sounds funny...Seeley Sweets...Seeley Sweets." She repeated in a sing-song voice that Booth knew on anyone else would have been very annoying.

"Methinks the clumsy lady doth protest too much." He sang back to her.

Booth had an idea. He increased his pace and employing the stealthy cat-like features he'd boasted of earlier, he tiptoed over to a large oak tree sited a few metres ahead of her. He hadn't made a sound.

"You know, it's okay to be scared. Nyctophobia is a very common fear. I mean, I don't suffer from it but then I'm not a big baby who's also scared of clowns."

Booth peeked out from behind the tree and stifled his urge to laugh.

"Wait...where are you?" He could just make out that she had cast her hands in the direction of where he'd been walking. She reached nothing but air. "Booth...stop messing about." Was that a hint of unease in her voice?

He watched highly amused as she stopped walking and then pivoted on the spot, swinging her arms out in an effort to catch him. He was reminded of that time in the lab when she'd spun round dressed as Wonder Woman - oh, boy - he sure had trouble getting to sleep that night. When this didn't work, she stood very still and Booth knew she was listening out for him. He grinned and rested back against the rough bark.

"I know you're close. I...I'll find you and when I do..." It _was_ unease that he heard in her voice. Booth was sure this time. She was genuinely scared and didn't he just feel like the biggest asshole in the world. He realised then that any sound he made would make her jump – he was going to scare her and there was nothing he could do to avoid it.

"Bones. I'm right here. I'm a couple of feet in front of you...to your left." He flinched as she jumped at the sound of his voice. "I was hiding...I'm coming out now, okay?" He was met with silence.

He stepped out from behind the tree and walked a few steps until he was at her side again.

"I would have found you, you know." She said before she started walking. He had to jog to keep up with her.

"I don't doubt it." He offered, hoping she'd slow down.

"I was about to inspect the tree. You gave up too soon." She clearly wasn't about to admit that she was scared and so he played along.

"I know. That's why I gave myself up." She slowed her pace and cast an inquisitive look in his direction. She saw through him, he knew it. He could even hide from her in the dark.

"I don't believe you." She confirmed and turned away.

"Okay...you got me! I got creeped out hiding over there on my own. I think something touched my leg and..."

"It was likely a beaver or maybe a squirrel." She was staring directly ahead, her voice still a little shaky.

"Yeah? Well, whatever it was, it was creepy." He clarified.

"What about your tough guy talk earlier, Booth?"

He sighed; she really wasn't making this easy. "I guess I lied." _Come on, work with me here, Bones. _

"I see." She replied and continued to stare ahead.

He could still hear the tension in her voice and he so badly wanted to assure her that it was going to be okay, that they were almost there. He never imagined that she would be scared of the dark. Bones was fearless. Then he remembered. Then he felt sick. He swallowed and felt his heart rise up in his chest and get fierce. She'd been locked in the trunk of a car for two days. She'd been buried underground by the same madwoman who'd also tried to end his life. She had encountered fear, pain and helplessness - in the dark.

"Bones, can I hold your hand?" He said before he could chicken out.

"Why?" She said quietly.

"Because I want to. It'll make me feel better...less creeped out." He counted three breaths before she replied.

"Okay. If you think it will help."

Not breaking his stride, Booth reached for her hand and held it firmly in his own. When shortly after they cleared the cover of the trees, he didn't let go – if she wanted her hand back, she'd have to ask for it.

"So, did you have big plans for tonight?" He asked as they rounded a sharp curve in the path. Booth saw the lights of the Parks Office ahead.

"Why would I have 'big plans'?"

"Um...it's New Year's Eve, Bones!" He squeezed her hand and marvelled at how small and fragile it was compared to his own.

"So?" She said, obviously confused as to why he would presume that this day was any different to the 364 that preceded it.

"So...it's what we do. We celebrate the end of the old year and the start of the new." _Do I really need to explain this?_

"The beginning of spring is the most logical time to start off a new year. Spring is the season of rebirth – January 1st holds no such significance in nature – it's just so arbitrary. What is the point?"

"Because it's what _we_ do. We drink too much, we make resolutions that we'll inevitably break and we kiss someone we care about as the clock strikes midnight."

"But I don't see..."

"And you know what, Bones? Tonight; you and I are going to celebrate!"

When she offered no resistance to the idea, he checked his watch – grateful that he wore it on his other wrist. "It's coming up on nine o'clock - we can swing by my place so I can get cleaned up, then we can pick up some food and something fizzy and mind-numbing to drink and make it back to the lab before midnight. You can shower at the lab, right? You have a change of clothes there, right?" He was aware that he was talking very fast.

"I'm going back to the lab to work, Booth."

"Aw, come on, Bones. Live a little." He gave her his best charm smile. He was shameless.

"Okay...you win." She sighed a few seconds later but he could tell that she was warming to the idea.

Booth reluctantly let go of her hand when they reached his SUV. He held the passenger door open for her and then raced round and climbed behind the wheel. He tried not to think about the mess their wet, muddy clothing would make of his seats. He'd have to get the whole car valeted. Still, there were more important issues at hand. They were racing against the clock. It would take them an hour, maybe longer, to get downtown and there was bound to be traffic...he needed to plan ahead. He took his cell from his pocket and scrolled through the long list of numbers – he found the one he needed and dialled.

"Bones, you order and I'll drive." He said passing the phone to her and starting the engine. He carefully navigated his way out of the poorly lit parking lot. Twenty long minutes later he saw the bright lights of the freeway ahead. Joining the blur of traffic, Booth hit the gas and let the Cruiser come into its own.

An hour and a half later, he was freshly showered and wearing his favourite jeans, a black t-shirt and a grey sweater that perhaps had seen better days. But he was comfortable, clean and most important, mud-free and dry. He'd thrown a couple of towels on his seat before getting back in the car and as he drove down K Street, he worried that the dampness would soak through. He pressed his foot down a little harder on the gas pedal.

Forced to slow down at the 14th Street intersection to give way to a truck, he thought about the way her hand had felt in his and it made him feel slightly giddy to think that he was going to spend the rest of the evening with her. Not that he expected to be holding her hand again anytime soon. But just being close to her, being alone with her, he'd take that. A short while later, he pulled to a stop outside Wong Foo's and ran in to collect their order. Bones told him that she'd take care of the booze when he'd dropped her off at work - after all, what did he know about champagne? Back in the Cruiser, he gunned the engine again and headed over to the Jeffersonian.

"I'm never going to eat again." Bones declared as she pushed away the white box which contained the half-eaten portion of spicy pineapple rice.

"Me either." He groaned and rested back into the sofa.

The empty take-out containers took up most of the available space on the coffee table in Brennan's office. Booth helped her stack them at one end and then followed her lead and rested his legs on the now clean surface. He took another healthy drink of champagne. The bubbles still tickled his nose but he'd grown accustomed to the taste after they'd started in on the second bottle. That didn't stop him wishing that it was beer though. Bones settled in next to him and he raised the Styrofoam cup and tapped it against hers. "Clink" She said and giggled.

"So, I figure we've got maybe ten minutes left of this year – it's time to make our resolutions."

"Do we have to?" She whined as she stretched her legs and flexed her black sock-covered toes.

"Yes. Now what do you resolve to do next year?" He said stealing another look at her. She may have got dressed in a hurry and made do with spare clothes that she kept at the lab in case of emergencies but, wow! The ink-blue jeans clung to her gorgeously long legs and the simple black top she wore - God help him - offered a tantalising glimpse of her breasts. Her face was free of make-up and Booth was certain that she'd never looked so beautiful.

"Come on, Bones. What's your resolution?" He prompted.

"I resolve never to celebrate this stupid day again." She deadpanned.

"Bones!"

"Fine. I resolve to always back-up my electronic files."

"You're serious – that's what you're going with?" He looked at her in disbelief. She really didn't understand the concept.

"Okay, what's your resolution?" She huffed.

"I resolve to show the people I love that I care about them." He said not needing to think his answer through.

"That's deep." She said and started giggling again.

"Fine. Mock me. Mock the sentiment." He took another drink and tried his best not to look at her. He knew if he did, he'd crack up. Bones, under the influence was just about the funniest thing he'd ever seen.

They sat in companionable silence, occasionally taking sips of their champagne. Booth wondered how they were going to approach the whole 'strike of midnight situation'. His valuable thinking time was cut short however, as the relative peace was broken by the sound of Brennan's cell phone ringing. Booth recognised the ringtone. It was "SexyBack" by Justin Timberlake.

"Let me guess: Angela, right?" He smiled.

"Yes. Would you believe she programmed it in herself?" She returned his smile with a dazzling one of her own and the butterflies that had been circling his stomach flitted up into his chest. Booth had to remember how to breathe. It wasn't hyperbole; this woman took his breath away.

He half-listened to Brennan's end of the conversation but mostly though, he worried that the artist would keep Bones talking past midnight. His fears seemed to be founded when Brennan got up and headed towards Angela's office. She had mumbled something about her friend thinking she'd left her purse on her desk and could Brennan go and check because her car keys might be in there and if they were then she could stop worrying that she'd lost them somewhere. From the patient way Brennan had spoken to her, Booth guessed that Angela had also been at the champagne.

He looked at his watch - four minutes remained of 2009. Just four minutes left of what was probably the worst year of his life. He could have died twice. First at the hands of a lunatic bitch who like to bury people as her career of choice and then because he was unlucky enough to develop a brain tumour the size of a baseball. Yep, Booth wanted to see the back of 2009, he really did. Another glance at his watch told him that two more minutes had gone by and he started to panic that she wasn't going to make it back to him in time. He stood up and paced the area in front of the coffee table. Damn it! He wanted to see in the New Year _with_ her. He wanted to be holding her when midnight struck.

He waited a whole sixty seconds more before bolting for the door. He ran across the empty lab in the direction of Angela's office. When he was a few metres away, she appeared in the doorway, her face tense.

"What's wrong?" He said meeting her at the door.

"I missed it. Angela kept talking; I think she may be inebriated. I tried to end the call...I'm sorry, Booth. I missed midnight. I shouldn't have...."

Booth reached out and pulled her closer to him. "No you didn't." He whispered into her hair. "See?" He held up his wrist and they watched as the minute hand inched forward and lined up under the number twelve on his watch.

"Happy New Year, Bones." He kissed her softly on the cheek and put his arms around her, enveloping her in a hug.

"Happy New Year, Booth." She breathed against the sensitive skin of his neck.

He held her tight to him, thankful that she didn't seem to be in any rush to let go. When she relaxed further into his arms, he felt the butterflies in his stomach and chest take flight again.

_I love you. I love you. I love you._


	10. A Good Night

_**AN: Hello! Thanks again for taking an interest in my story. It means a lot that you good people out there in fanfic land are adding me to their favourites list or signing up for story alerts etc. **_

_**Thanks especially to those who've kindly left me a review – believe me, your comments and words of encouragement keep me posting. I have to admit, I kind of hit a wall with this chapter but I read back through some of your comments and it gave me the boost I needed to get something down on the page. And so, if you like where this story is going, feel free to encourage me some more! **_

_**SN: So...last time: Booth and Bones spent New Year's Eve together, which involved examining a corpse, sliding on their asses down a muddy bank and getting a little squiffy on champers. Good times. **_

_**This time: we catch up with Booth as he processes recent events - all the while trying to get his head together and catch a murdering psychopath. Bad times. **_

_**Poor Booth, he's still going through it, but at least now he's not suffering in silence...you'll see. I thought it was time those two talked about some things... **_

_**Disclaimer: I still don't own 'em.**_

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_**A Good Night – Francis Quarles**_

_Close now thine eyes and rest secure;  
Thy soul is safe enough, thy body sure;  
He that loves thee, He that keeps  
And guards thee, never slumbers, never sleeps.  
The smiling conscience in a sleeping breast  
Has only peace, has only rest;  
The music and the mirth of kings  
Are all but very discords, when she sings;  
Then close thine eyes and rest secure;  
No sleep so sweet as thine, no rest so sure._

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His head still ached. No, scratch that - it didn't 'ache' - it really fucking hurt! Booth ran his hand over the not insignificant bump at the back of this head and winced. Why did he always need to play the hero? Really, was there ever a question in his mind that the men who'd locked-down her lab would harm her and the rest of the squints? No. He hadn't questioned it. But he'd still rushed over there and literally gone in guns blazing. The truth was that he desperately wanted to play the hero for her.

He stared for a moment at the empty glass on the coffee table and at the white plastic strip of painkillers before deciding that he was too weary to walk to the kitchen to get some water – instead he popped a couple of the yellow lozenge-shaped tablets from the strip, and managed, after gagging a couple of times, to swallow them down. Had he taken four pills since he'd arrived home from work a few hours before, or did those two make six? He shouldn't take more than eight in a twenty-four hour period, right? He couldn't remember and worse, found he didn't care.

He slumped back against the sofa cushion and massaged the bridge of his nose with his hand. Proving his point to Hodgins had been satisfying and releasing some of his pent-up aggression on those spooks was enjoyable, but honestly, he could've done without it. After all, did he really need another blow to the head? He could have kept in touch by phone with Sweets and relied on Hacker to check things out - he didn't need to crash the party. Besides, it wasn't like she'd asked him to come to her rescue. In typical Bones fashion, she'd applied herself to the task at hand and let everything going on around her melt into the background. Booth knew that if Sweets hadn't of called him, the first he would hear of the night's events would be on Monday when he took his usual spin by the Jeffersonian. It pissed him off that she hadn't been the one to call him. Didn't she want his help? Didn't she think he had anything to offer? Maybe that was the truth of it – maybe she figured she didn't need rescuing. Maybe she was right.

He ran his hands through his hair before letting them fall heavily onto his lap. It was an unconscious gesture of surrender, of giving up. The black mood that had needled and prodded at him all day took root inside and he was powerless to resist. He took a deep breath and clenched his fists so tightly that sparks of pain flickered along his forearms. He _should_ be angry. He _should _be mad as hell. Why couldn't he tell her that he loved her out loud? _I love you._ It wasn't tricky to say. The message was plain, uncomplicated. Three simple words, that's all he had to say, and yet, when she was standing in front of him, he found he just couldn't force the words from his heart. Instead of telling her out loud, instead of being straight with her, he resorted to bringing her pizza and trying to sweet talk her under the stars – it was like being sixteen all over again. He sighed; he hoped that wasn't the full extent of his romantic repertoire? Jesus, if it was, he was in big trouble.

It wasn't like they weren't growing closer. They were. There was the touching for one thing – it didn't seem odd that they had linked arms the other morning as they'd left the diner and then there were those times when he'd forget himself and throw his arm around her as they walked to the Founding Fathers to celebrate closing another case – she hadn't once seemed like she minded the contact. She hadn't pulled away from him when they had hugged on New Year's Eve. Not even when their embrace had lasted just that little bit too long. But more telling than the physical contact was the way that recently they seemed to get lost together (that was best way he could describe it) - they would just stare at each other, maybe waiting for the other to light the spark which would allow them to catch fire. He was grateful for those fleeting connections but he needed more, much more. He wanted to know what it felt like to hold her in his arms and believe that she wanted him too. He wanted to breathe her in, kiss the soft skin at the base of her throat and it drove him half mad just thinking about how amazing it might feel to drag his lips hard against hers, tasting her. Compared to that heaven, cosy chats on the bonnet of his SUV about alien life forms and moon-walking his way into her office to bring her pizza, paled in significance.

The pain in his head spread its cold fingers deeper and soon the pain wasn't concentrated in one area, now his whole head hurt. Why the hell weren't the painkillers doing their goddamn job? He was sick and tired of the pain. Hell, he was sick and tired of a lot of things. He was sick of Hacker asking him for tips on how to romance Bones into agreeing to go on another date with him. He was tired of every single Jackrabbit lead dead-ending. But most of all, he was sick and tired of himself.

Booth closed his eyes and made a conscious effort to control his breathing. He needed to calm the hell down. _Instant Calm Breathing Method_..._Instant Calm Breathing Method,_ he said over and over in his mind. He breathed in for four counts and then held his breath for a count. He breathed out four counts. He tried to keep his in-breathing deep and full but this only made him feel more breathless. He'd used this technique plenty of times before, in circumstances far worse than this. Why couldn't he get himself together? He was sitting on his sofa, alone; there was no threat – what the fuck was wrong with him! When all hell broke loose on that last mission and he'd felt Teddy Parker's body go limp in his arms, he'd stayed calm, he'd shut out the urge to run back into the thick of the trees and hunt down the murdering bastard who had robbed the kid of a life...he'd stayed put, he fought panic and just breathed. He had crouched there in the dirt, his uniform smeared and blotted with blood that wasn't his own and concentrated on just breathing, just on keeping it together as he waited for rescue. He did it then. Why couldn't he do it now!

Booth bent forward and pushed his hands hard into the seat cushions on either side of him. He breathed in deeply again and tried again to count four breaths but he couldn't maintain the rhythm. He couldn't get enough air – he vainly tried to fight the physical urge to take in more oxygen but he wasn't strong enough and soon he began to pull air into his lungs at an ever increasing pace. He was scared now. Scared of how this was going to end up. _Breathe! Breathe! Get it together, you useless piece of..._

He knew from the firm double-rap on the door that it was Bones. He was too far gone to consider if he felt relieved or plain horrified that she would discover him in this state. He was starting to feel lightheaded and willed himself to gain control but the sound of his erratic breaths echoing in the otherwise silent living room was evidence that he wasn't winning that battle any time soon. She knocked again, louder this time. Booth struggled to his feet. He made it as far as the small kitchen. He stopped, his vision blurred and he knew he was close to passing out. His slid his hand along the worktop as he tried to steady himself as he walked a few more steps. He barely registered the empty glass skating across the polished granite surface before it fell onto the floor and smashed. He couldn't stay on his feet any longer and slid down the front of the wooden cupboard door and landed on his ass, hard. He was done.

He made out the sound of hurried footsteps. "Booth!" He couldn't get a fix on her face. He knew she was close.

"Booth! What's wrong? Are you hurt? Booth!"

"Cant'...breathe..." He gasped as he gave into panic.

"Yes you can. You can breathe. Booth...you _can_ breathe."

"Can't..."

He felt her cool hands on his face and when she spoke, her voice carried over the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. She was telling him to concentrate on her voice - to focus only on her. She told him to take a deep breath in and she counted the four beats for him and when he breathed out, she moved one of her hands and placed it against his chest and counted out loud again.

"Come on, Booth...deep, even breaths. One. Two. Three. Four. That's it. Okay...now breathe out."

As his breathing became less erratic, he focused on the feeling of a weight pressing against his left side - he realised that she kneeling beside him. Her hand was placed over his heart and her face was pressed against his cheek as she continued to count his breaths for him. Booth allowed her words to soothe him, calm him. His breathing evened, almost under control, and he felt some of the debilitating tension leave his body. He covered her hand with his own. She laced her fingers with his and he felt her sigh against him as she held onto him tighter.

"You're going to be okay, Booth. You're going to be fine." He heard the fear in her voice and he cursed himself. He brought his other hand from his side and placed it on her lower back. He knew his hand was shaking but he didn't let this stop him. He ran his hand from the small of her back to just below her shoulder blades. He repeated the motion until he felt her grip on him loosen. He moved his head back slightly and, as he'd hoped, she rested her forehead into the crook of his neck. He continued to rub her back and with every second that ticked by he came back to himself. He came back to her.

"What happened?" She whispered against his neck.

"I don't know. I...just couldn't breathe." He said shakily.

"Has this happened before?"

"Um...sorta."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"It was just one other time" He wasn't about to tell her about that awful incident in Angela's office.

"Last week, when we found Amy Decker." She wasn't asking him, she was telling him. He felt her pull away; she rested back on her knees and looked at him. He saw that her face was flushed, her brow knitted with concern.

"Yeah." He didn't want to talk about this. He didn't want her to worry about him. He was her partner – she relied on him to be strong, to protect her. How would she feel if she knew he was unravelling again?

"Booth, you should have told me."

"Bones, it's nothing, okay. I'm just tired and I guess..."

"Don't try and..."

"How did you get in?" He questioned in a lame attempt to derail her train of thought.

"I heard the sound of breaking glass. I used the spare key you keep in that fake rock by the door. Booth, why didn't you say something?" He knew she wouldn't allow herself to be sidetracked.

"Bones...you can't be comfortable like that." Booth panicked. Sure, he was concerned that her knees must be killing her but; truthfully, he wanted to avoid her questions. He wanted to avoid her concern. He wanted it all to go away.

She rested one hand on his shoulder as she stood up. He followed, he still felt less than steady but he wasn't about to let on. When she reached out to help him to his feet, he ignored the gesture and managed it on his own. He knew he was being a jerk but he just couldn't let her help him. He clenched his jaw as her hand fell back to her side and he saw that his rejection had upset her.

"Let me clean this up. Um...where do you keep your dustpan and brush?" She cast her eyes around the kitchen.

"I'll get it, Bones. I don't want you to cut yourself." He walked over and opened the cupboard underneath the sink and rummaged around in the mess of cleaning products, sink plungers and other assorted crap that he usually threw in there when he couldn't be bothered to tidy things away properly, until he found what he was looking for.

"Okay. I'll go wait in the living room"

"Sure. Good. I'll be right in." He breathed a sigh of relief as she walked away. He just needed a moment to himself. To think. To regroup.

Booth took his time clearing up the glass from the kitchen floor. He would always make sure he did a thorough job in case Parker hurt himself but on his fourth sweep of the floor, he realised he couldn't stall any longer. Besides, his head was still killing him and he really needed to sit down. He washed his hands and took two clean glasses from the draining rack and filled them with cold water from the faucet. He took a deep breath, cursing at how natural and easy the action was now, and walked through to join her.

He set the glasses down on the coffee table, first moving out the way a stack of paperwork and about three weeks worth of the sports section of the Washington Post.

"Thought you might be thirsty." He said sitting down next to her on the sofa.

"Thank you. I am thirsty." She replied softly but she didn't take a drink.

"Booth, I really..."

"Look, Bones. I know you want to talk about what just happened but..."

"I want to help. I _want_ to help you, Booth."

"I'm fine, okay. It was just a little panic attack or something...no biggie." He was being ridiculous. But he really didn't want to have this conversation with her.

"It wasn't a little 'anything'. You couldn't catch your breath...I thought you were going to lose consciousness." She said a little more forcefully.

"I would've gotten it under control." It was a feeble attempt at a lie, he knew it and when he saw the look on her face, he knew she wasn't buying his bullshit either.

"You don't have to talk to me. Not if you don't want to. But you should tell someone. Booth, you should tell Sweets."

He knew this had to have cost her. She wanted badly to know what was going on with him and yet she was willing to forgo knowing so that he would seek help. How did he repay her selflessness? Oh yeah, by being an even bigger jerk.

"What does he know?"

"He'll know about this type of..."

"The kid's barely outta college...I'm not gonna go and..."

"Booth." Her tone left little room for ambiguity. She was ordering him to talk to Sweets and he knew that if he said no, then she would inform the young psychiatrist herself.

"You gonna rat me out if I don't, Bones?" He said as he took a drink of the cold water.

"Yes. You will leave me no choice." He turned his head to the side and looked at her. Her blue-green eyes communicated her resolve.

"Fine." He gave in just like he always knew he would.

"You know, you do drink a lot of coffee at work, maybe four or five mugs a day probably and caffeine has been known to provoke panic attacks in people who are susceptible." He noticed her looking at the empty strip of pills that had fallen off the table and onto the floor. "Also, some pain medications contain caffeine and so this, combined with too much coffee could cause..."

"Didn't I just agree that I would talk to Sweets?" Booth said, the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Also, an acute anxiety attack may be an early sign of hyperthyroidism. You have lost weight since your surgery...despite the weight loss, has your appetite increased?"

"No. I'm eating the same, I guess." He began to get uncomfortable again.

"Have you experienced any palpitations, nervousness...um...diaphoresis, an enlarged thyroid, coupled with diarrhoea?"

"Bones! We are not talking about this, okay? And for the record, I'm not nervous...well I wasn't until you started looking at me like Hodgins looks at bugs under his microscope. My thyroid is just fine and I don't suffer with diaphanneorsis, or whatever the hell it was you said...and let's just leave out the other thing."

"Diaphoresis means excess sweating." She clarified.

"Thanks, that clears that up then."

"Booth, why are you uncomfortable talking about this with me? I don't understand your reticence. After all, I was in the operating theatre when Dr Jersick performed the surgery on your brain. You didn't mind me being involved then. In fact, you asked me to observe."

"That was different. Before you ask me how...I don't know, okay. I'll see Sweets. I'll go see him tomorrow." He pleaded silently with her to stop her interrogation. _I want you to know that I can take care of you. I want you to know that I won't let you down...I won't let anyone hurt you. I am strong. I am what you need me to be._

"Fine. We'll keep this all business." He knew that she was as angry as he'd ever seen her when she adopted the no-nonsense clinical tone that drove him half nuts.

"You'll have my full written report in the morning but I knew you'd want to know my findings straight away. I finished my examination of Amy Decker's remains. Due to the free access of air to the body, decomposition is likely to have occurred quickly. Decay had removed almost all of the soft tissue from the body and the skeletal structure was disarticulated due to scavenging animals and the inclement weather. I would estimate that she had been lying in that location from between one to three weeks." When Booth didn't question her further, she added.

"She too suffered a broken pelvis."

He sighed as he closed his eyes and ran his hand roughly over his jaw. "She was killed right under our noses. This guy doesn't care. He's outta control."

"I saw the news reports earlier. I thought the FBI wasn't going to go public about the murders?"

"We didn't have a choice. The press has been sniffing round for weeks now and I guess Hacker figured that we could tell our side and shut down some of the wilder rumours or else make it open season for them."

"Perhaps publicising the murders will make people take more care."

"Yeah. Or maybe our guy will enjoy his time in the spotlight and step things up."

"Information is a good thing, Booth. I would want to know if someone was out there killing young women and kids so that I could protect myself and the people I care about."

"Sure. I accept that. But you don't know how these people operate. They'll publish unauthorised information, they'll speculate about the progress of the investigation and they'll stick any jerk with a criminology degree in front of a camera so that they can take pot shots at the way we're running things."

"What does Andrew think?" She said taking a drink. He resisted the temptation to ask her why she cared about Hacker's views on anything.

"He thinks we should pursue a symbiotic relationship with the press and that it's counterproductive to do otherwise. But hey, at least I can steer clear of the whole circus. Charlie drew the short straw – he's the PIO on this one."

"I don't know what that means."

"Ah, he's the Public Information Officer – the guy who'll speak on behalf of the investigation. He'll have to update the press, make statement after statement and basically pull together all the strands of the case so that we can drip-feed information to the public. It's a full time job and it means we're one down in terms of experienced task force members, but at least I didn't get lumbered. "

"You don't want to be on television?"

"Nah, Bones. Come on, I'd be hopeless."

"Why would you assume that?"

"Listen, Charlie's smooth – he's got the gift of the gab and besides, he craves the attention. He'll do great."

"You can be very charming."

"You think I'm charming." He smiled.

"Yes. On occasion, you can be charming."

"Thanks, Bones. But you know I'd rather be working the case."

"I'd rather you were too." She rested back into the cushioned sofa and stretched her long legs out in front of her. She turned to face him and he had no trouble reading her emotions.

"We have to catch him, Booth."

"I know, Bones. And we will. We will."

He shifted back and came to rest beside her. He kicked off his sneakers and placed his sock-covered feet flat on the floor, the backs of his legs pushed against the edge of the sofa. He looked at his watch – it was past midnight. He was beyond exhausted now. The pain in his head wasn't as sharp but it was still there. Her shoulder and arm felt warm and solid against his and he closed his eyes. He would open them again in a minute. He just wanted to shut out the light.

What seemed like moments later, Booth opened his eyes and squinted a little against the muted brightness of the room. She was still next to him. He could tell from the way she was breathing that she was asleep. He looked at his watch – it was 3:02 a.m. It suddenly occurred to him that she must have gotten up at some point and dimmed the lights. But she hadn't woken him. She hadn't gone home. Booth reached out slowly and placed his arm around her shoulder, he eased her closer to him. When her head came to rest against his neck, he took a gamble and kissed her forehead gently. She didn't stir. He longed to pull back a little so that he could look at her, to see her so unguarded but he worried that he would wake her.

He didn't want to believe she had stayed because she was scared for him? But as his mind grew heavy and dizzy with sleep, he realised that he had no reason to believe otherwise. Booth closed his eyes and concentrated on the feeling of holding her, of being close to her. This woman meant everything to him. He wouldn't let her down. Not ever. He would get better. He would be what she needed him to be.

* * *

_**Next time: with the help of the estimable Dr. Sweets, we get to the bottom of Booth's panic attacks and we find out what Booth thought about Brennan's speech about believing in love (as seen at the end of The Dentist in the Ditch). **_


	11. I Find No Peace

_**AN: **__**Thank you**__** for reading and reviewing. I had hoped to post before now but work has been kicking my arse these past few weeks. Sorry for the delay.**_

_**As promised, we delve a little into the cause of Booth's recent run of panic attacks. I was also planning to examine what he thought of Brennan's speech about believing in love (as seen at the close of DITD) but have held this over until the next chapter.**_

_**Given that we're only 3 weeks into an 8 week hiatus on the show, I thought it was a good time for Booth to take a little break. He's going to take a vacation from work because Sweets reckons he needs one, and I agree with him. **_

_**Now, before you start to worry about what this means for our favourite crime-fighting duo...fear not! He's not going far and he won't be gone for long. Besides, serial killers don't give a flying fig if you're on holiday (whoops...I mean 'vacation') - they'll keep on with the murdering and the mayhem. They're dependable like that. :) **_

_**Would love to know what you think. **_

_**Thanks again for reading.**_

* * *

_**I Find no Peace – Sir Thomas Wyatt**_

_I find no peace, and all my war is done._

_I fear and hope. I burn and freeze like ice._

_I fly above the wind, yet can I not arise;_

_And nought I have, and all the world I season._

_That loseth nor locketh holdeth me in prison_

_And holdeth me not—yet can I scape no wise—_

_Nor letteth me live nor die at my device,_

_And yet of death it giveth me occasion._

_Without eyen I see, and without tongue I plain._

_I desire to perish, and yet I ask health._

_I love another, and thus I hate myself._

_I feed me in sorrow and laugh in all my pain;_

_Likewise displeaseth me both life and death,_

_And my delight is causer of this strife._

* * *

Booth was running late, ridiculously so. He pictured Sweets sitting in his office, pen poised at the start of a new line on a clean sheet of paper, staring at the empty sofa in front of him. The young shrink was normally a patient man but Booth had pestered him into rearranging a prior appointment with another patient and seeing as he was now running close to an hour late, he figured Sweets would be in a flat out sulk. And sulking was way worse than anger. Anger he could handle.

He pushed the button to call the elevator and tapped the toe of his left shoe against the highly polished grey marble floor that covered the entire lobby area of the J. Edgar Hoover Building. It was almost 10:00 a.m. – he'd overslept and couldn't remember the last time he'd done so_._ He wondered if Sweets had waited around for him. If the roles were reversed, he knew what he would do. Booth grimaced; Sweets was likely to have come to the same conclusion – but would the younger man have the balls to bail on the session before their allotted hour was up? He wasn't sure. He'd done a pretty good job of putting the fear of God into the kid over the past couple of years but recently his powers of intimidation had taken a hit.

Booth cursed under his breath as a group of analysts he identified from the Bureau's Cyber Division, or the "Cyborg Division", as Charlie had taken to calling it, wandered over and stood next to him.

"It's Agent Booth, right?"

"Yeah. Morning." He said offering a cursory nod to the tall balding man to his right. He hoped if he kept things brief, the conversation would end there.

"So, what did you think of the symposium last week?"

Jeez, why didn't people call it a "conference" anymore? He turned his head, barely making eye contact with the man and assured him that he'd found the day-long waste of time: "informative" and that it "gave him something to think about".

"You'd be amazed at all the positive feedback we've gotten. I don't think people realise just how much computer intrusions cost the taxpayer each year."

Booth remained silent. Was the guy waiting for him to comment? Bad luck if he was.

"So, I saw Assistant Director Hacker's press interview – you guys found another body?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I..."

"I can't discuss an ongoing investigation." He interrupted, hoping that this would stifle the man's curiosity.

"Sure. Sure. It's gotta be exciting though...hunting down a serial killer. Nelson here was only saying the other day that he thinks the killer might..."

"Hold that thought." Booth said as the white light that illuminated the elevator call button flicked off. He marched quickly into the empty space and pressed the button for his floor. He took a small step to the side, allowing the four men room, but he made no effort at conversation.

He maintained silence as they climbed upwards into the belly of the building. He could tell that the quiet was bothering the other men and he wouldn't be surprised to find that some major eye-rolling, or worse, was going on behind his back.

As he stepped out and the elevator doors closed behind him he heard someone inside say: "Man, what's eating that guy?"

Booth hurried along the warren of achromatic corridors until he reached Sweets' office. He rapped on the door a couple of times before turning the brushed-chrome handle. The room was empty. So the kid had balls after all. He allowed himself a small smile before he closed out the door behind him and made his way over to his own office.

Once seated behind his desk, he dialled Sweets but the call was forwarded to the psychiatrist's voicemail. He left a short message of apology and asked if the session could be rescheduled for another time soon.

"Morning, Boss, I have an update for you." Booth looked up to see O'Hanlon in the doorway.

"Okay."

The younger man made no move to move beyond the doorway. He seemed to be frozen in place. Booth didn't have time for niceties – was the guy actually waiting for an invitation to enter his office?

"You gonna come in, O'Hanlon, or just throw the report at me from there?"

"Oh...of course. Here you are." The young agent said as he walked over and handed him the report. Booth took the thin file of neatly typed pages and ran his eyes over the headline points. There was nothing of any note. Just an update on personnel issues and some media spin – words that he was expected to trot out should he get collared by the press.

When a few minutes later he looked up again, O'Hanlon had gone. Booth dumped the pages in the trash can reserved for confidential waste and gave the agent and the report no more thought. He found his brain could only process one subject, one thought...Bones. Everything else was a distraction, nothing more.

Two nights ago they had fallen asleep together on his couch. She had chosen to stay. She had stayed the whole night. He swivelled his chair round so that the black leather backrest hid him from the enquiring looks of an office full of junior agents and he closed his eyes. Never in his most vivid dreams had she felt that good in his arms. He wasn't proud, but as she'd lain against his side, his arm draped across her shoulder, he had breathed in the smell of her hair until he couldn't discern a scent any longer. He had breathed in the lingering hint of her perfume until he was sure he had breathed every remaining trace of smell from her neck and throat. He had swallowed her scent within him and as he sat there oblivious to the bustling, hectic atmosphere that existed beyond the door of his office, he tried to summon the memory of it.

* * *

"Agent Booth." He jumped; unaware that anyone had entered the room. He spun his chair around.

"Sweets! Hey. Listen, I'm sorry about this morning."

"What happened?"

Booth noticed that he looked decidedly put out. "I overslept. I went to your office but you'd gone by the time I got there."

"I waited for forty five minutes." Sweets said as he approached the desk.

"You did? Sorry." Booth motioned for the other man to take a seat.

"So, you left a message asking if we could reschedule. I wanted to let you know that I have some time tomorrow afternoon or failing that, I'm free most mornings next week."

"I can't make it tomorrow." Booth said as he found himself unable to resist the urge to bounce his pen against the pile of papers on his desk.

"Next week then?" Sweets asked eyeing the agent in front of him. Booth swore he could see the cogs turning in the shrink's irritatingly brilliant brain. "Of course, if it's urgent, I can try and move something around?"

"It can wait." He replied as he trapped the pen under his hand. The urge to fidget, to release the tension that wracked his body meant that at the moment his hand stilled, his foot started to tap in time with a steady, silent beat. He was normally highly adept at hiding his emotions – had to be given his line of work. But there he was jumping about in his seat and telling Sweets all he needed to know.

"What about we talk over lunch?" Sweets said as he relaxed back in the chair.

"Um...okay, I can do that. Where do you want to go? The Diner?"

"Sure."

"Okay then...so I'll swing by your office later?"

"Later? What about now?" Sweets said as he continued to study him.

Booth looked at this watch and was stunned to find the time was fast approaching one o'clock.

"Man, where did the morning go?" He asked even though he knew full well where his morning had gone – he'd just spent the best part of two hours daydreaming about Bones.

* * *

The Royal Diner:

Twenty minutes later, Sweets looked across at the agent and tried to mask the concern he felt. Booth looked like he needed to sleep for a week and it seemed he'd lost even more weight. Sweets knew that emotional recovery from the type of surgery Booth has undergone would come in fits and starts and that it might take years even for the other man to feel like he was back to normal, if indeed he ever felt that way, but knowing something and then seeing evidence of it were entirely different.

"So you said you overslept...am I to take it that you're sleeping better than the last time we spoke?"

"I guess." Booth muttered as he perused the menu laid out on the table in front of him.

"How's your appetite?"

"Why would you ask me about that?"

"I noticed that you've dropped a couple of pounds." Sweets said neutrally.

"Hey, I sat around on my butt for six weeks after the surgery – I needed to get back into shape. I've been running most evenings after work."

He persevered. "So, would you say your appetite is the same as it was before your surgery?"

"Didn't I just say that?" Booth bristled.

"No. You didn't answer my question; you simply stated that you've started running after work. I want to know if your appetite..."

"What are you, my mother?"

Sweets ignored the warning tone that sounded clearly in Booth's interruption and held the other man's stare. "Booth, I thought you wanted to talk?"

"Yeah. I do. But I don't see why you want an insight into my eating habits."

Sweets let the matter go. He had a feeling he'd have to pick his battles wisely over the course of this lunch break-come-therapy session.

"Okay. So what about you tell me what's bothering you?"

Booth looked around at the occupied tables nearby and leaned forward in his seat. He planted his elbows on the table and raised one hand to cover the side of his mouth. Sweets shunted forward in his seat and also leaned in closer.

"I had a panic attack...I mean; I guess it was a panic attack."

"When was this?"

"Two nights ago." Booth said keeping his hand cupped to the side of his mouth.

"Was this the first time it happened?"

"No. Um...it's happened before. This was the third time." Booth finished quickly as their drinks order arrived.

"What can I get you, Hun?" Sweets returned their waitress's broad smile and ordered a plate of fries. Booth ordered a burger and fries, a chocolate shake and a slice of cherry pie - Sweets had to wonder if the heavy calorie-laden order was made for his benefit. Or maybe the guy was genuinely hungry. He'd spent plenty of lunch times discussing cases with Booth to know that the man had a prodigious appetite.

Halfway through his burger and fries, Booth hit a wall. He didn't want to eat another bite and just the smell of his food was making him nauseous. The chocolate shake didn't help. It was thick with ice cream and had done nothing to quench his thirst. Why the hell had he felt the urge to prove something to Sweets? Now if he didn't finish his meal, he'd look like an idiot! He took another healthy bite of the densely packed meat and chewed like his life depended on it. By the time his plate was clean, his jaw ached.

"Is there a pattern to the attacks you've experienced? Did they occur when you were alone or maybe when you were confronted with a high stress situation?"

"Both." Booth replied as he silently cursed the large slice of cherry pie which was placed in front of him.

"I cut you an extra big slice, Agent Booth. Now, you let me know if you change your mind and want a scoop of ice cream with that."

"Thanks, Vera." He flashed his charm smile at the middle-aged woman standing over them. Vera always gave him extra pie. Booth had always been grateful. Today he wasn't.

Vera walked away and Sweets moved forward in his seat again. "Panic attacks are fairly common and given your recent surgery and the nature of your job, I am not unduly concerned." This wasn't the total truth. But Sweets felt sure that if he appeared worried in any way, the other man would close up, for fear of hearing something that would send him spiralling down again.

"You're not?" Booth queried.

"No. Many people experience panic attacks without further episodes or complications. It's fairly common for people to experience one attack in their lifetime, sometimes more than one. Recurrent panic attacks are often triggered by a specific situation, such as crossing a bridge or speaking in public – especially if that situation has caused a panic attack before."

"Okay then." Booth said as he dug into his pie.

"Usually, the panic-inducing situation is one in which you feel endangered and unable to escape. Where were you when these attacks occurred? What were you doing?"

"The first time I was at work - well at the Jeffersonian. The second time I was at a crime scene."

"And the third time?"

"I was at home. Alone."

Sweets found it interesting that he'd felt the need to add that he was home alone. He resisted the urge to mention this because he knew Booth hated it when he did that.

"What form did these attacks take? How did you feel?"

"I...I couldn't catch my breath. I felt out of control...disconnected, I guess. You know, like I was hovering above myself and watching as I tried to get it together."

"How long did the attacks last?"

"I don't know – it's not like I thought to keep a stopwatch handy!" Booth snapped.

"Okay...so are we talking a couple of minutes or longer than that?" Sweets clarified calmly.

"Minutes. No more than that. It's no big deal though, right?"

"While a single panic attack may only last a few minutes, the effects of the experience can leave a lasting imprint. Such attacks have the ability to shake us to our core." Sweets was regretting his earlier attempts to downplay the issue – clearly, Booth had decided that his attacks were nothing to worry about. And while they might not be in a big picture kind of way, he'd be remiss if he didn't point out the potential for them to get worse.

"The first two times, were you alone when the attacks occurred?"

"No. Angela was there the first time and Bones was at the crime scene with me when I...when I lost it."

"So, both times you were focused on work stuff – is that right?"

"Of course. What else would I be focussed on?" Booth said impatiently.

"And what about this last time? You were at home – were you thinking about work when the attack started?"

"Yeah. I guess. So are you saying that's the cause of the panic attacks...stress at work?"

"Booth, you have a wicked stressful job; I think it's most certainly a factor. But there are other reasons we should explore: your continued recovery, any medications you might be taking, intake of stimulants and your personal life."

"Sweets, my personal life has nothing to do with this. Also, my personal life is by definition, personal, and so..."

"I've noticed in our recent sessions that you have been reluctant to talk about Dr. Brennan. I wondered if perhaps..."

"Sweets, don't make me repeat myself." Booth warned, his eyes darkening.

"You don't want to talk about it, right?" Sweets said knowingly.

"I don't want to talk about it." Booth said as he placed a forkful of the sweet fruit pie in his mouth and engaged his aching jaw. His gag reflex thankfully appeared to have calmed down. Full stomach or not, he loved pie.

"Look, at the moment I'm not overly concerned but I want you to tell me if you have additional attacks, especially if they increase in frequency and or potency." Booth's expression told Sweets that he was waiting for him to continue. "Booth, some people who've experienced panic attacks go on to develop something called panic disorder. Panic disorder is characterized by repeated panic attacks, combined with major changes in behaviour or persistent anxiety over having further attacks. This will inevitably take an emotional toll on the sufferer because the memory of the intense fear and terror felt during the attacks can negatively impact on a person's self-confidence and cause serious disruption to their everyday life. "

"But you don't think I need to worry, right?"

"Based on what you've described, no. That's not to say that I think we should ignore the fact that you've had three attacks - definitely not. Regardless of the cause, panic attacks are treatable and I think we should revisit those cognitive behavioural techniques we discussed a few sessions back. We can adapt and add to the coping strategies we covered to help you deal with the symptoms of these attacks.

"I'm beginning to feel like your pet project, Sweets." Booth said, mostly good-naturedly.

"I do have one suggestion – something that doesn't involve therapy."

"Shoot." Booth said setting his fork down on his plate, which was now empty, aside from a few crumbs.

"I think you should take some time off."

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm in the middle of a major murder investigation."

"I'm not saying you should go away for two weeks, or a week even. Just take off for a weekend. Get out of the city. Go somewhere that has nothing to do with your work."

"Sweets, I work weekends. Like I said, I'm in the middle of an investigation, I can't just take off. You might be able 'clock off' at five o'clock on a Friday afternoon, but I can't - it doesn't work like that."

"Okay, so go somewhere not far out of the city and take your laptop with you. Find somewhere with internet access and check in from time to time. You can work remotely and if something happens and you need to make it in, you can."

"I don't know." Booth said pushing his plate away. But truthfully, he'd already made up his mind. The thought of getting out of D.C. for a couple of days suddenly made the best kind of sense. He needed to clear his head. He needed some distance.

When Vera came back over to clear their table, he paid for their meals and left a generous tip – the pie really was outstanding. He drove Sweets back to the Hoover Building and once he was back in his office, he searched through his computerised address book until he found the number he was looking for. Punching the digits into his desk phone, he waited four rings before someone picked up.

"Hello, Neptune Boat Charters."

"Riley?"

"Yeah. Who's asking?"

"It's me, Seeley."

"Booth...hey, good to hear from you, man. To what do I owe this pleasure? No, don't tell me...you finally wanna take me up on my offer and come out sailing with me."

"Actually, that's exactly what I'm calling for. I was hoping to swing by this weekend – you gonna be around."

"Sure. Come on by. You remember where we are, right?"

"Yeah. What time's good for you?" Booth said as he leaned back in his chair. He should listen to Sweets more often, he felt better already.

"Well, I'm here on site from 6 a.m. but I'm guessing that's a little earlier than you had in mind."

"I'll be there at six – maybe we can get out there early."

"Heh, you're keen! Sure, weather permitting; we'll head out for an early spin around the bay and then you can buy me breakfast. Deal?"

"Deal. See you in a couple of days." Booth said before hanging up the phone.

* * *

Wednesday had finally given way to Friday and Friday afternoon had quickly given way to Friday night. Booth was running late, again. He'd planned to leave work hours earlier but Charlie needed to run through the latest developments in the Jackrabbit case – not that there were any of significance. After he was done updating Charlie, he got pulled into an impromptu meeting with Hacker and some 'suits' from State. Once the meeting had concluded, he grabbed the Jackrabbit summary file and made a break for home. He'd got within maybe two feet of the elevator when O'Hanlon caught up to him.

The kid was waiting on his approval of a couple of case reports. Booth took the files from him and stalked back to his office. O'Hanlon, then, much to his annoyance, spent most of the next hour hovering outside his office. Despite his desire to get on the road, Booth read every word and made corrections where necessary. Finally done, he looked up to find the space in front of his office empty. He leapt out of his chair and marched over to the door. Leaning round the doorframe, he saw O'Hanlon making his way back down the corridor, towards him. Booth wordlessly beckoned the young agent into his office.

"You know, when I walk, I expect you to follow."

"Sir."

"I haven't got time to hunt you down or invite you into my office. You got something for me; you follow me wherever I go. You want to me sign off on your reports; you follow me in here and wait till I'm done, okay?"

"Yes, Boss."

"Also, I asked for these reports yesterday." Booth said, his voice rising by the syllable.

"You did, but when I tried to give them to you yesterday afternoon, you told me that you didn't have time to look them over and that I should give them to you the following morning."

"So why didn't you?" Booth asked pressing his pen down hard as he signed his name to the file cover pages.

"Sir...the files... I put the files in your in-tray like you asked. When I saw that you'd left for the day, I remembered that you hadn't given them back to me and so I checked and they were still there."

"You put them in my in-tray? This in-tray?" Booth pointed with his pen to the deep mahogany tray on top of his desk which was overflowing with paper.

"Yes, Sir."

"Fuck, kid! You got something important for me, give it to me in person. I couldn't tell you what half the stuff is in that tray. Never put anything in there that you want me to read straightaway. Every agent in this office knows that. You should know that."

"I'm sorry. I thought you said to put the reports in your in-tray. I misunderstood. It won't happen again." O'Hanlon took the files from him and walked quickly back to his own desk.

Booth ran his hand over his stubble-rough jaw and sighed. He was being hard on the agent. Maybe too hard, but he just didn't have the time to babysit some rookie kid. He turned off his desk lamp for a second time that night and made his way back down the corridor to the elevator. He knew O'Hanlon was still working. He heard the steady tapping of fingers on a keyboard as he walked by and remembered that it had become a common sound over the past couple of months. The kid was still working after everyone else, bar him and Charlie had left for the night. Now he was leaving too. Yeah, he'd been too rough on the guy. He'd make it right when he got back on Monday.

* * *

Annapolis, Maryland:

By the time he'd made it home to pack a bag, it meant he didn't leave the bright lights of D.C. behind until 10 p.m.

Booth drove down Severn Avenue and swung a right onto 2nd Street. At the end of the block he turned right again and shortly after pulled to a stop outside what was to be his home for the next couple of days. Booth climbed out of the SUV and grabbed his two bags from the back seat. He'd stayed at the quaint little Bed and Breakfast a few years before and saw no reason to try anywhere different. The rooms were clean, if a little fussy in terms of the decor, but the breakfast was second to none and as the building was set back off the street, it was blissfully quiet.

After checking in, Booth made his way to his room – politely turning down the offer for someone to carry his bags for him. He turned the heavy brass key in the lock and let himself into the room. A small lamp had thoughtfully been switched on beside the white-wood queen-sized bed. He was tempted to throw himself down on the bed and pass out for the night but he wanted to check his emails first and at the very least brush his teeth before turning in. He set down the case that carried his laptop on the bedside table and then reached around inside his top-loading military issue duffel bag for his toothbrush and toothpaste. Finding what he needed, he tossed the olive green bag onto the bed and walked through to the en suite bathroom. At the sight of the large claw foot tub, he wondered if he had the energy to take a bath – deciding that he didn't, he made do with taking a leak and then brushing his teeth.

Booth folded his clothes and placed them on the pillowed seat of the rocking chair that sat in the windowed reading nook, to the side of the bed. Wearing just his boxers, he took the laptop from its case and set it down on his lap as he rested on top of the plum coloured comforter. The wooden bed frame pressed hard into the bones of his back and so he pushed back the blanket and grabbed a pillow which he secured behind him.

He'd gotten twelve emails in the hour and a half since leaving his office. Four were from Charlie and Booth wondered for the first time since knowing him, if the agent might be putting in more hours than he was. The others were general messages – round-robins' that had gone out to all FBI staff. He saved her message until last.

* * *

RE: This weekend.

From: _Dr. Brennan_

Sent: 19 February 2010 21:09:07

To: _Agent Seeley Booth_

Booth –

I'll be working here at the Jeffersonian if you need to reach me over the weekend.

I'm glad you've decided to get away for the weekend.

B

* * *

He liked to think that in signing off as "B" she was signing off as Bones, not Brennan - but he knew if he asked her, she tell him that he was the _only _person that used the moniker. He read the brief email over twice more before deleting it from his inbox.

Booth powered down the laptop and climbed off the bed. He stored the computer away in its case and turned out the light. His last action before closing his tired eyes was to set his watch alarm for 5 a.m. the next morning.

* * *

_**AN: Oookay, so we didn't get to the bottom of Booth's panic attacks – that's maybe because I think he has one or two more left in him. Also, he's been pretty mean to O'Hanlon – he'll atone for this but right now the man is suffering. **_


	12. When the Dark Comes Down

_**AN: Okay, I want to let you know from the start that this chapter contains brief images and scenes that some people may find distressing. Those scenes come early on and feature violence against a younger Booth at the hands of his father. If you need to skip ahead, cool, but I hope you won't abandon the chapter altogether.**_

_**As promised, in this instalment we find out what Booth thought of Brennan's speech about believing in love.**_

_**One other note: I know nothing, nada, about boats or fishing, or fish for that matter – this will become obvious as you read on. ;)**_

_**If you have the time, I'd be over the moon to know what you think. **_

_**Thank you. Thank you. Thank you...for reading. **_

* * *

_**When the Dark Comes Down – Lucy Maud Montgomery**_

_When the dark comes down, oh, the wind is on the sea  
With lisping laugh and whimper to the red reef's threnody,  
The boats are sailing homeward now across the harbor bar  
With many a jest and many a shout from fishing grounds afar.  
So furl your sails and take your rest, ye fisher folk so brown,  
For task and quest are ended when the dark comes down._

_When the dark comes down, oh, the landward valleys fill  
Like brimming cups of purple, and on every landward hill  
There shines a star of twilight that is watching evermore  
The low, dim lighted meadows by the long, dim-lighted shore,  
For there, where vagrant daisies weave the grass a silver crown,  
The lads and lassies wander when the dark comes down._

_When the dark comes down, oh, the children fall asleep,  
And mothers in the fisher huts their happy vigils keep;  
There's music in the song they sing and music on the sea,  
The loving, lingering echoes of the twilight's litany,  
For toil has folded hands to dream, and care has ceased to frown,  
And every wave's a lyric when the dark comes down._

* * *

Booth awoke at 4:35 a.m. and saw little point in trying to fall back to sleep for the 25 minute window before his alarm sounded. He didn't get out of bed though. He sent his right foot on a scouting mission from underneath the covers and the heavy chill in the room sent it quickly back under again. He wondered if it had snowed overnight, as the forecast had predicted. Ten minutes later, the lure of needing to use the bathroom tempted him from his blanketed cave. Darting to the bathroom, he started the hot water running in the tub before attending to his full bladder. A short while later, he slipped beneath the cover of warm water and submerged his entire body. He kept his eyes closed as the liquid warmth slid over his face and muted his hearing.

He was sure that he had dreamed of her again. But, like before, the memory of it taunted him from just beyond his reach. Allowing his face to break the surface of the water, he breathed in deeply before pulling back into the comforting warmth. What had he dreamed? What had he dreamed?

He often did his 'best thinking' in the tub. Ever since he was a kid, if he needed to think a problem through or if he'd had a rough day, he'd shut himself away and spend as much time as his lungs allowed submerged under the covering of water. When things with his father came to a head, which they did with increasing frequency shortly before Pop's took him and Jared in, he'd push himself down and lie still on the bottom of the tub and do his best to shut out the world beyond the tiny bathroom. Many times the warm water would aggravate his split lip or the freshly opened gash over his eye – he'd never know how his father managed to land his blows so precisely, so that old wounds never stayed old for long. Sometimes he would open his eyes and watch as his blood swam in wispy veins in front of him before merging into a pinkish cloud. Other times, most times, he'd keep his eyes shut tight and try to think beyond the immediate worry that the bathroom lock wouldn't hold.

It was something about feeling weightless; something about the way everything seemed so far away that brought him peace. He'd plotted against his father, he'd dreamed up methods of escape as he'd laid there trying to ignore his basic need for oxygen. Once his father had kicked in the door and Booth had barely broken the water line when he felt a firm hand grasp his shoulder while another pulled his hair almost free from his scalp. He remembered that he'd kicked his legs out, trying to steady himself against the foot of the tub as he vainly thought of how he could defend himself. But his father was too strong for him. He was always too strong. For one terrifying moment when his father relinquished his hold on his hair and pushed him under the water, he thought he might drown...that his old man might go too far this time. But he wasn't under the water long before his father grabbed at his hair again and this time held him steady so that he could slap him hard across the cheek. He remembered that the pain of his head hitting the edge of the tub as he reeled back from the blow almost made him black out. He remembered feeling sick and cold as his father reached over him and yanked on the chain so that the water disappeared around him.

"Wouldn't want you to drown now, would I?" Those were the first words his father had spoken to him all day. Booth remembered hoping that his father meant it, that he truly didn't mean him serious harm. The promise that the faintest chance of love existed within his father's heart broke him. Yes, he'd cried because of the pain, he'd cried because he wanted his father to stop hurting him but most of all he'd cried because he felt so helpless. He could try and act the Big Man at school and in front of his kid brother but when he lined up against his father he felt every bit the child he was. He remembered looking up at this old man and lifting his chin as a show of defiance, of self-belief. His father had rubbed his large hands through his hair and sighed deeply, as if he might be as tired as his son with all the fighting and the hurt. He turned, saying nothing more, and left the bathroom.

Booth wondered if maybe his old man figured he done his work as he lay there sobbing bundled against the side of the tub and so opted to leave him alone for the night. Or maybe he was looking for him to put up more of a fight. Booth didn't know then and he didn't know now. What he did know was that he'd spent the entire night in that bathroom, shivering against the cold plastic tub, a couple of worn towels the only source of warmth. He could have left, made a dash for his bedroom but he didn't, he couldn't. He was simply too scared, too wounded to put one foot in front of the other. He'd once confessed that if it wasn't for his grandfather that he would probably have killed himself when he was a kid. That night as he lay there defeated and betrayed, he had wondered for the first time if it would just be easier all round if he didn't exist.

Booth's need to breathe forced him to break clear of the water. He'd come away for the weekend to try and relax, to clear his head and there he was going over old, painful, memories that were better left buried. He stayed above the water line and washed quickly before reaching down by his side and pulling the plug. He needed to stop dwelling on the past. He needed to let go of all of the things that twisted deep in his gut that he couldn't do anything about. His old man was long gone. There was nothing that could be done about any of it now. Besides, it wasn't like he didn't have anything else to worry about.

When Booth made it downstairs he was unsurprised to find the fireplace warmed entrance devoid of life. It was coming up on 5:40 a.m. and the coal fire which had been backed up the night before was down to its last embers. He walked quietly to the front door and slipped out into the dark frost covered morning. The drive to Annapolis Harbor would take less than the twenty minutes he had to spare but he still pushed the speed limit all the way there. With ten minutes to spare, he pulled to a stop in a small car park next to a single storey cedar-clad building. He grabbed his bag from the front passenger seat and climbed out of the SUV. He walked around to the other side of the building and then sped up, jogging the rest of the short distance to the slip in an effort to ward off the penetrating cold.

As he approached the 37-foot craft, Booth called out. Asked permission to come aboard but there was no answer. He was early after all and Riley had never been particularly good at being somewhere when he said he would. Therefore, when a full fifteen minutes later he saw a red Tahoe rumble past shortly followed by the emergence of his friend from behind the same wooden building he'd parked next to, he was less than surprised.

"Hey, Booth. Good to see you, man." Booth returned the other man's firm handshake and smiled. He had known Riley for years, since high school, and his friend's infectious enthusiasm for life was just the tonic he needed.

"You too, Rile. So, how's business?"

"Can't complain, I guess. I'm still here, people are still booking with me and so I figure I'm doing better than most. A couple of my competitors went bust late last year - not even the summer season could save 'em."

"Rough." Booth said as Riley grasped his shoulder and they walked to the edge of the slip.

"Yeah, but I'm hoping we're over the worst of it. So, let's get away and then you can tell me how goes life at the FBI. Man, I still can't believe my oldest friend is a Feeb! Who'd have guessed that scrawny kid who spent most of his time ditching school and getting into trouble with just about every teacher at Lincoln High would turn out so well? You've done us proud, Seel."

"Yeah, right." Booth laughed at his friend's playfully sarcastic tone. "What about you? You ever think of quitting all this and getting a real job."

"Me. Wear a suit and live a nine-to-five existence...never! Not gonna happen."

Booth boarded the boat and stood next to Riley under the fly bridge as his friend powered the twin 350 engines and set a course out that carried them out into the Chesapeake Bay, bound for Cove Point.

"Not sure we'll land any Rockfish, Booth. It's a little early in the season for that."

"That's cool. It's just nice to be out here. Blows the cobwebs away, you know?"

Riley said nothing more and kept his eyes towards the horizon. Booth appreciated that his friend didn't feel the need to fill every moment with talk, he was similarly happy to simply take in the view. When they made it to Cove Point, Riley set up a couple of fishing rods, but after an hour it became clear that his earlier prediction was dead on accurate – the striped bass weren't biting.

"You think there are any down there?" Booth said peering over the side of the boat at the churning dark blue waters below.

"Hard to say, we may get lucky closer inland. You okay to head back?"

"Yeah, sure."

Riley climbed the short ladder back up to the fly bridge and Booth reeled in his line and packed their rods away. He walked to the edge of the stern and stood looking out at the rolling waves and the endless sky. Stretching his arms above his head, he yawned and felt his stomach twist a little in hunger. The truth was that he had been skipping meals. Not on purpose. The Jackrabbit case was all encompassing and most of the time, he just forgot to eat. He wondered if he'd have time to make it back to his B&B with Riley for one of their awesome breakfasts. He doubted it.

The rain fell when they were still far from the shore. The icy drops pelted and flashed hard against the wooden deck but instead of running for cover, Booth fastened his waterproof jacket and flipped up the hood. He knew that comfort and warmth awaited him in the roomy accommodation of the teak aft deck, which came complete with a sofa and a wet bar, but he preferred to stay outside, at the mercy of the elements. He had told Riley the truth – he had cobwebs that needed to be blown away. He had plenty of them.

* * *

They had eaten breakfast at a cafe not far from the harbour and Riley had insisted on paying the bill before heading back to the boatshed. He said he expected it to be a quiet day but he didn't want to turn down business should someone come by unannounced. Booth promised to meet up with him later for a beer but for the rest of the day, he was on his own. He thought about browsing the stores, maybe looking for a gift for Parker, but in the end he figured he should get some work done and so made his way back to the B&B.

Late morning became afternoon, which then effortlessly morphed into evening as Booth cleared his emails and finished off a couple of reports he'd promised to Hacker. It wasn't until he was standing in the bathroom, shaving in front of the mirror that hung over the sink, that he remembered that he'd skipped lunch again. He knew he'd lost weight, of course he had. His suits didn't look as good on him, his favourite jeans were too big for him, and as he continued shaving he noticed that the razor glanced over his cheekbones and then dipped into the hollow of his cheek in a way it hadn't before. He swore to himself that he'd grab something when he met up with Riley later. If he didn't, the generous amount of booze they were sure to drink would finish him off before the evening really got started.

Booth had packed light and so he really only had one choice of outfit to wear. He pulled the heavy grey sweater over his casual black shirt and stuffing his wallet into the back pocket of his dark denim jeans, he hurried out of his room and down the stairs. The cold attacked as soon as he closed the front door behind him. Needles of icy air stabbed and stung his face and bare hands as he jogged over to the Cruiser and flung himself inside. He cranked up the heating to maximum as he pulled away and drove back towards the bay.

'Jack's Tap House' was a favourite with locals and tourists alike and Booth remembered, as he pulled to a stop across the street, that they did a mean rib-eye steak. The bar and restaurant areas were busy, despite the relative early hour. He spotted Riley's tousled, almost out of control, dark blonde hair as he approached the bar. Next to his well-built friend sat a tall red head, her back to Booth. He watched as Riley snaked his arm around the woman's slender waist and pulled her tight to him, whispering something in her ear that made her cast her head back and laugh.

Booth was a few feet away when Riley turned and spotted him. "Booth, my man." He said as he nudged the woman next to him.

"Seeley?"

Booth smiled at the pretty red haired woman as she jumped down from the bar stool and pulled him in for a crushing hug.

"Emma...it's great to see you again. How are my godson's?"

"A handful let me tell you." She said, her cut glass English accent no less pronounced for the ten years she had spent living on the other side of the Atlantic. She finally let go of Booth but made no effort to reclaim her seat.

"Ah, they're good boys, Em." Riley said passing her a near empty glass of red wine. "Booth, a beer, right?"

"Yeah, thanks." Booth replied as he rubbed his hands together, the cold just beginning to wear off.

"Yes, they are. But twin two year-old boys are a handful...which you know all too well when you're left alone with them."

"Hey, I manage fine!" Riley countered as he managed to catch the barman's eye. "Another Merlot and two beers please, bud."

"You 'manage fine' because you're never left alone with them for more than a few hours, perhaps half a day, _if _we're being generous. Even then, I'll come home and the place looks like a bomb's hit it. Seeley let me tell you, they'll be juice on the floor, sticky hand prints everywhere – not all of them child-shaped, if you catch my drift, and I'll find the three of them vegged-out in front of the TV."

"They love "Daddy-time"." Riley said handing an ice cold beer to Booth and then reaching out and capturing Emma around the waist again.

"My boys." She said smiling as she poked Riley in the side and made him gasp into his drink.

They finished their drinks at the bar and then found an empty booth at the back of the open plan restaurant area. Booth ordered the rib-eye, his mouth watering just at sight of the words written on the menu in front of him. Riley ordered the same and Emma opted for the crab cakes. While they waited for their food to arrive, Booth watched the interplay of the couple opposite. Riley had met Emma eight years before. It was a chance meeting - they had bumped into each other, literally, as Riley reversed out of the boatshed car park, Emma was pulling into a nearby space and he succeeded in busting her headlight and dislodging her bumper. Maybe she wasn't that attached to her car, or maybe it was solely down to Riley's charm, but they had gone out to dinner that evening and never looked back. Riley had once told him that he knew Emma was the woman he was going to marry when she took his hand as they walked back to his car after their meal. He said holding her hand felt right, like her hand was made to fit in his own. Eight years, a marriage and twin boys later, they looked happier than ever. Booth smiled and took a long pull on his beer. It was hard not to feel jealous.

His steak was as good as he remembered and he finished his meal quickly. He grinned knowingly as Emma helped herself to Riley's fries, despite his warning that he would jab her with his fork if she didn't quit. Did all women do that? He knew if he didn't keep his guard up, Bones would eat most of his fries before he got wise to what was happening. Of course, she was gifted with an advantage – that being that he often spent most of his time watching her, getting lost in her, that she could mount an attack on his plate without him realising it.

God, he missed her. It was physical ache, a tangible discomfort that settled within him and refused to die out. She was less than two hours away by car but it may as well have been a different country, a different world. As he took another drink, he realised sadly that he missed her like a lover, not a partner. He missed her touch, her smell, her everything. The kicker was though that when he got back to D.C. he would still miss her because she wasn't what he wanted her to be. She wasn't his.

Maybe she did now believe that such a thing as love existed, but what good did it do him? Maybe she was waiting to test out her newly found premise, his premise, on the next guy who came along. Just because he had shown her the way didn't mean that he would also be the one to claim her freshly exposed heart. So, she'd reasoned that love was more than simple brain chemistry, great, but he suspected that despite her words, she wouldn't give herself over to love so easily. She would want to experiment. It would be just like her to test his theory that love comes first and then the chemical reaction. She would go looking for tangible proof and Booth worried that she would go looking in all the wrong places.

The three skipped dessert and ordered a bottle of champagne instead. Emma told them that it wasn't often that they saw each other and that she wanted to mark the occasion. Booth would have preferred to stick to beer but he appreciated the sentiment and so he drank his share of the dry, tart, liquid. And so it was on rather unsteady legs that Booth excused himself and headed to the bathroom. As he washed his hands and rubbed them against each other under the warm air of the hand dryer, he realised that he was on his way to being drunk. He had to slow down and fast otherwise the night would be over way too soon.

The lights in the restaurant were dimmed low as he walked back towards their table. The change made him feel sleepy all of a sudden. He noticed that there was someone sitting in his seat - someone with blonde hair, cut into a sleek bob. As he got closer her heard her voice, it was similar to Emma's but slightly higher pitched. Booth swallowed. He didn't need this. Or maybe it was exactly what he needed.

"Booth, you remember my little sister, Charlotte, don't you?" Emma said as the blonde woman slid across the seat, nearer to the wall, making room for him. Oh, he remembered her. He remembered her from Riley's wedding night and from the morning after.

"Of course...it's nice to see you, Charlie." He said sitting down and trying to avoid Riley's amused stare. Emma, to the best of his knowledge, had never known about what had happened between him and her kid sister.

"It's good to see you too, Seeley. Are you still working for the FBI?" The attractive blue-eyed woman said as she returned his smile.

"Yeah, I'm still there. What about you, what are you up to these days?"

"Oh, this and that...you know how it is?" Booth didn't but he nodded anyway. Charlotte was one of those women that flitted around, seemingly directionless, but always busy. She was a journalist for a while back in England but then moved to the US for a couple of years and tried her hand at advertising. It wasn't a good fit and so she went back home to London and the last Booth had heard, she had gotten engaged to some rich financier.

"Charlotte is here for a couple of months, to help me out with the boys whilst I try and get back into writing again." Emma said as she smiled at her sister. "She's been such a help."

"Hardly, sis...in fact I sometimes wonder if I'm not adding to your workload."

"Don't be silly. You're great with them and if not for you, my article wouldn't have been picked up."

"Oh that's right...Seeley, my wife is officially in print again. Tell him, honey." Riley said as he nuzzled her neck, making her blush but she didn't pull away.

"It's no big deal." She said grinning as Riley put his arm around her and told her to quit being so modest.

"You're writing for the paper again...that's great, Emma." Booth said as he raised his bottle to toast her.

"You're toasting her with beer. No. I can't have it. We're going to toast my big sis in style." Charlotte said as she raised her hand and caught their waitress's attention.

And soon Booth found himself drinking his fourth glass of champagne that night. He had to admit that it tasted better that the previous bottle or maybe that was because he couldn't taste much at all. So much for taking it easy; he rested back against the black leather cushioned booth and breathed deeply. The room wasn't spinning exactly but it wasn't staying still either. He peeled the label off his half full bottle of beer and folded and twisted the damp red paper as he listened to Riley regaling them with stories about hiring his boat out to a varied collection of weird and wonderful people.

Booth alternated between sipping his fifth glass of champagne and taking a swig of his beer. He felt Charlotte's leg pressed against his own and wasn't sure if he had moved toward her or if she had slid over closer to him. They had barely spoken a word to each other but somehow they had reached this place together - this place where it was clear that something tangible, physical was happening between them. He could smell her heady, expensive perfume and studied her elegant hand as she held the champagne glass and raised it to her full lips. His eyes slid to her throat as she swallowed. She caught him staring at her and smiled a small smile. He didn't look away nor, he guessed, did she want him to.

When Emma excused herself to use the bathroom, Riley followed her, giving Booth a knowing smile before he fell into step behind her.

"So..." Charlotte said as she rested her elbow on the table and placed her right cheek and chin into the palm of her upturned hand.

"So..." Booth replied as he ran his eyes over her face and down to where their bodies touched and then back up again. He took his time taking in her image. She was as stunning as he remembered, maybe more so. The intervening years had been kind to her, she had gained a little weight, which was a good thing, and she was maybe a little more polished, more self-assured than the last time they had met. She could have her pick of men and right now she wanted him. This thought should have boosted his ego, or at the very least made him realise how damn lucky he was, but all he felt was lonely. She wasn't Bones. She wasn't what he wanted. But maybe she was just what he needed.

* * *

_**AN: Don't hate me! **_


	13. Beloved

_**AN: Hello again. Thanks for reading, reviewing and adding this story to your favourites or alert lists. I'm very flattered. Really I am. **_

_** Before we go any further, I need to point out that I changed the rating of my story based on the content of this chapter. I truly did not intend to stray into 'M' rated territory...but here we are all the same. Let's just say that I weighed up the pros and cons and consider it necessary. Given that in the last chapter Booth and Charlotte were getting 'reacquainted', I'm guessing lots of you are considering launching your PCs/laptops outta the window right about now. All I ask is that you bear with me.**__  
_

_**If you have the time, I'd love to know what you think. Reviews keep me motivated. Knowing that people are enjoying my words is just the best feeling.**_

_**Happy reading. :)**_

* * *

**_Beloved – Maya Angelou_**

_Beloved,  
In what other lives or lands  
Have I known your lips  
Your Hands  
Your Laughter brave  
Irreverent.  
Those sweet excesses that  
I do adore.  
What surety is there  
That we will meet again,  
On other worlds some  
Future time undated.  
I defy my body's haste.  
Without the promise  
Of one more sweet encounter  
I will not deign to die_

* * *

She tasted of champagne and cinnamon, he guessed because of the apple tart she'd ordered. When Riley and Emma called it a night and had left Jack's Tap House around midnight, they had stayed on until a little before 1 a.m. There had been no doubt in Booth's mind that she would return to the B&B with him. They had been heading to this point all along. He was too wasted to drive and so they took a cab, and during the short journey, they hadn't said a single word to each other. But the taxi cab had dropped them off minutes earlier and since then they hadn't advanced beyond the front porch.

Booth couldn't tear his mouth from hers long enough to consider that it would make better sense to move things into the warm, dry sanctuary of the B&B. He had manoeuvred her against the oak front door and worked his hand into her black woollen coat, gripping onto to the hem of her silk blouse. Deepening the kiss, he slid the whisper of material up, flattening his hand against the warm bare skin of her toned stomach. She pushed against him; an involuntary reaction which caused them both to gasp out loud. Booth finally dragged his lips from hers and trailed open mouthed kisses down to her neck, occasionally nipping at the sensitive skin that stretched across her throat.

"You feel so good." He whispered against her cheek all the while trying to remember where he'd put the key to his bedroom.

"Mmm..." She breathed as she reached down between them and rubbed her open hand against him.

He sucked in a breath and pulled back, planting both of his hands against the doorframe. Where was his stupid key? God, she was touching him again and he leaned forwards and rested his forehead against hers.

"You keep doing that, Charlie, and this night is not gonna end the way you want it to."

"Tell me; what way do I want it to end, Seeley?" Her breath ticked his nose and he brought his mouth to hers and sucked lightly on her bottom lip. Breaking contact again, he lifted her chin with his finger and smiled.

"You want it to end like this." He answered before capturing her mouth and pulling her tight to him.

By happy chance, Charlotte had found the brass key buried deep in his left back pocket. Letting them into the cosy entranceway, he placed his index finger to his mouth, signalling for her to keep quiet. They tip toed to the staircase and hurried up the winding climb to the first floor landing. His room was the first on the right. He was more than grateful for this, as keeping quiet was becoming more difficult by the kiss. He slid the key in the lock and stilled his hand as he felt her arms snake around his waist. "Jesus...I want you, Seeley." She whispered into his back. He wheeled round and reached for the back of her neck as he crushed his mouth against hers, the key momentarily forgotten. She returned his frantic kiss and reached for his hand and brought it to her breast. _He had to get that damn door open! _

Her full breast felt unbelievably good in his hand, the light material of her blouse sheer enough that he could trace her curves and peaks. Reluctantly, he turned his attention back to the key which remained in the lock. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Charlotte work free the remaining buttons on her coat before she stood behind him again and reached around his waist. Her fingers came to rest at his belt buckle, which she unfastened just as he got the door open. Booth guided her through the doorway and into his room. Once the door was closed behind them, he advanced again and as she stepped backwards, he slid off his unfastened belt and tossed it onto the floor, not caring where it ended up. He took another step and smiled as she brushed her coat, along with the rose pink scarf she wore, off her shoulders and threw them aside with the same careless abandon. One more step and he shrugged out of his own jacket and then pulled his grey sweater over his head and added it to the forgotten pile of material on the floor. Charlotte seemed keen to continue their game of striptease as Booth closed the distance between them, but the door at her back halted her progress. He had her trapped.

She gasped as he raised her hands above her head and then grasped them together in his larger hand. He kissed along the brushstroke of pale skin at the top of her low-cut cream blouse and then pushed his whole body against her, not able to hold back any longer. In the glimmer of space that separated them, his free hand slid down, over the front of her dark grey dress pants. Then he stopped. He breathed deeply as he tried to quiet his busy mind.

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

Charlotte moved against his palm, urging him to touch her. Now it was _his _turn to feel trapped. She kissed his neck, just below his ear and despite his doubts, his turmoil, he felt his body react. She told him again that she wanted him. Told him that she was gonna make him feel so good. And, fuck, he _wanted _to feel good! He wanted to forget the case, wanted to forget his damn panic attacks, wanted to forget his lonely heart...he _wanted_ to lose himself, if only for little while.

_I love you. I love you. I love you. _

Booth struggled with the marked disconnect between his mind and his body and he willed instinct to take over, to help him out, to absolve him. She shifted again against his hand and begged him to touch her, not to tease, to make her lose control. He rested his forehead against her chest and concentrated on her laboured breathing, on her jumbled, almost incoherent words of encouragement as he applied the pressure she longed for.

When she told him to touch her for real, he called upon instinct and undid the button on her pants and slid down the zipper. He didn't move as she wriggled out of the soft cotton material and let it pool at their feet. He nudged his leg between hers and let his hand wander over the warm smooth skin of her inner thigh until he again had her slow twisting and panting under his touch. Bringing his hand back up to her stomach, he kissed her hard as he dipped his fingers under the top of her underwear and let his hand drift lower. He felt her vibrating against his wet fingers as he let instinct lead his actions. When he finally gave her what she wanted and pushed his finger inside her, she cried out against his open mouth.

Booth knew she was close. And he knew he was lost. He released her hands from over her head and she gripped the front of his black shirt as he increased his pace. She moaned and let her head fall forward as the initial jolt of pleasure hit. He moved closer still so that she could rest her forehead against his chest as she lost herself to the sensations he had designed.

He gently moved his hand from between them and brought it to rest against the doorframe, his other hand held tight at his side. He waited. He listened to her breathing which became steadier with every second that passed.

"Thank goodness it's dark in here, Seeley, or else you'd see me blush."

"You...blush?" He joked back.

"Hey, it's been known. You...that was amazing." She loosened her grip on his shirt and smoothed her hands over his broad chest.

"Well, you're very receptive." _You can do this. You can be normal. You can let go. _

"No. I think you should take all the credit. Now, what can I do to make you feel good? If I remember correctly, you seemed to enjoy this..."

She found that spot next to his ear again and placed a line of light kisses down to where his neck met his shoulder. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the feeling of being touched. It had been so long since he'd felt that kind of intimacy, that definition of comfort. To be touched was to feel alive, to feel contact, connection, and he missed that. He missed having someone to hold at night and who would hold him in return. When he came back home after leaving the hospital, he was desperate for someone to hold, someone to calm his nerves, someone to tell him that it was all going to be alright. It was during those initial long wakeful nights that he realised just how alone he was and how lonely he had become without realising it.

She stopped kissing him and began to undo the buttons on his shirt. He caught her hands.

"I can take my own shirt off."

She smiled and pulled back, waiting for him to undress himself. Booth wanted to. He_ really_ wanted to. He knew that they would be great together. He knew she could make him feel all kinds of good. But all he could see was Bones in that damn blue lab coat, standing in front of him as she reached for his shirt. _"I can take my own shirt off." "No. Don't. You'll compromise the evidence."_

He stopped. He was done. It was over.


	14. The Snow Storm

_**AN: As always, thank you for reading and reviewing. **_

_**This next instalment deals with Booth's thoughts about the night before. And.....Bones is back! Not the show, unfortunately, but my rendition of our favourite forensic anthropologist. **_

_**  
Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. I had a weekend work conference (how evil is that?) and some studying to contend with these past couple of weeks and so writing this had to take a back seat. I'm also headed off on my hols for week on Saturday and so not sure if I'll be able to post before I return. I'll do my best though. **_

_**Would really be interested to know what you think of this chapter – so, if you have the time, drop me a line or two. Thanks. :) **_

_**PS: Is the hiatus over yet??? No? Drat. There are only SO many times I can re-watch Seasons 1-4...wink, wink! **_

* * *

_**The Snow Storm - Edna St. Vincent Millay**_

_No hawk hangs over in this air:  
The urgent snow is everywhere.  
The wing adroiter than a sail  
Must lean away from such a gale,  
Abandoning its straight intent,  
Or else expose tough ligament  
And tender flesh to what before  
Meant dampened feathers, nothing more.  
Forceless upon our backs there fall  
Infrequent flakes hexagonal,  
Devised in many a curious style  
To charm our safety for a while,  
Where close to earth like mice we go  
Under the horizontal snow._

* * *

_She turned on her heel, looked back at him, her body still aimed in the wrong direction and she smiled. He felt his mouth curve into a grin despite his panic. His response, his smile, was going to kill her. But he couldn't change the shape of his face. He couldn't change anything. It was simply too late._

_She walked closer and with every step she grew less defined, less human. He touched her paper thin hand and it tore away and fluttered to the ground as he tried to bring her closer still. At the same time they both looked down at the hand that covered her stomach. He realised that he had reached out and that it was his own. "Don't look." She whispered and her breath felt icy cold on his cheek. But he had to look. He had to know. He lifted his hand, and at once the blue material turned dark red. He touched the misshapen circle of blood and his fingers sank beneath the blue. He began to cry. _

"_I told you not to." She was angry with him._

"_Is it like all the others?" He sobbed, falling to his knees in front of her._

_She nodded and he pleaded with her. "No! No! I can protect you. I can be what you need me to be."_

_When he reached out to her again, she whispered sadly: "No. Don't. You'll compromise the evidence." _

_Then she disappeared completely. _

* * *

Booth sat up and the covering of blankets slumped to his waist. The back of his neck was damp with sweat and he was shaking so bad he thought his teeth would shatter in his head. The bay window opposite the bed shifted back and forth into the shadow of night and he gripped at the comforter in an effort to steady himself. Everywhere he looked, the lemon-yellow patterned wallpaper merged into a single blank mass and he frantically opened and closed his eyes, trying to gain focus.

He knew even before the water pooled at the back of his throat that he was going to throw up and he made it as far as the doorway of the bathroom before his stomach clenched painfully and he doubled over.

* * *

He woke again - this time he felt cold, and his right cheek, for reasons he couldn't begin to explain, was completely numb. It slowly dawned on him that he was lying on the bathroom floor and that it was morning. He wondered how long he could stay there before his entire body froze.

Eventually, it was his desperate need to drink something that forced him off the floor. He cupped his hand under the slightly cloudy water that streamed from the faucet and drank greedily. Booth filled his palm a few more times before turning off the water and examining the damage he'd done in the mirror that hung over the sink. His hair was sticking up all over and his brown eyes were lost against the dark circles that spoke of a mostly sleepless night and too much alcohol. _What is wrong with you, Seeley? What did you do?_

He didn't have the strength or the courage to answer. He brushed his teeth, splashed some cold water on his face and walked through to the bedroom. He was pulling on a black standard issue FBI t-shirt when there was a firm double knock at the door. If he thought he'd felt sick earlier, it was nothing to the wave of nausea that assaulted him now. He braced his hand against the wardrobe as he tried to pull himself together. _What did you do? What did YOU DO?_

"Booth? It's me...Bones. Are you up?"

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm coming...hold on." He shouted, as he strode over to the door and opened it. He fixed what he hoped was a relaxed grin onto his face. "Bones!"

"Are you sick?" She asked as she walked past him, not waiting for an invitation.

"No. Why?"

"It's almost ten and I've been calling you on and off since six this morning."

Booth had no idea where he'd left his cell. He hoped he'd find it in the pile of clothes that were still scattered by the door. But honestly, he might have left it in the cab or it could still be back at the bar. Christ, he'd have some explaining to do to if some cabbie rifled through his address list and made random, just-for-fun, calls to the top brass at the FBI.

"Sorry. I had a late night and I slept in." He closed the door and leaned back against it. He also wanted to add that he was on VACATION, but he knew this would mean nothing to her. Besides, it wasn't like when she tried to score a few days off he didn't hunt her down and pull her back into whichever case they were working on. Case in point: her vacation with Sully. Booth sighed; he knew he had no right to complain.

She was taking in the state of his room and he wished he'd have thought to pick up his clothes and maybe pulled back the comforter before opening the door to her. Her face was pink with cold and her hair fell in soft waves and all he wanted was to reach out and touch her. He forced his eyes from her face, and only now did he notice what she was wearing.

"Bones..." He laughed. "You look like you're kitted out for a trek up Mount Everest!"

"Booth, did you fail to notice the change in the weather? It must be eight inches deep out there."

"It snowed?" He asked as he pushed away from the door and walked towards the window.

Yes. It had snowed, and then some. The landscape outside his window was transformed into a clean white, mostly undisturbed expanse and he shivered as if by default. He continued looking out as he heard her unzip her heavy ski jacket.

"So...I've come to the conclusion that you are going to love me." She said.

"Whh...what, Bones?" He turned to look at her.

"You are going to love me because I found something on Amy Decker's bones." She answered plainly.

He took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair. _She was going to kill him. She really was._

"Is that not what people say? Did I get it wrong...it's something people say, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, Bones. It's just not something I pictured you saying?"

"Oh." She said softly as she shrugged out of her dark green jacket and held it in her hands. He thought she looked nervous as she let the jacket swing unconsciously back and forth in her arms – a padded green arm almost skimming the striped floor rug by the side of the bed.

"So, what's this about Amy Decker?" He asked hoping to steer the conversation in a more comfortable direction.

"I was re-examining the bones after the cleaning process and I found a number of faint cuts visible in the left ribs and on a section of the illium. The markings are consistent with a blow caused by a curved bladed weapon or tool. Dr. Hodgins and I compared kerf dimensions and properties and we found a match. The cuts were made by an axe with a curved pick. To be more precise, a climbing or mountaineering axe."

"This fits with the rope we found. Maybe our guy is a climber? Great job, Bones." Booth said as he pulled on a hooded navy blue sweatshirt and then moved past Brennan to grab his gun off the bedside table. He figured he should pick up the pile of last night's clothes, or else look like a total slob.

Booth grabbed the clothing off the floor and placed the crumpled heap on top of the desk. _"Please be here!"_ He chanted over in his head as he checked the pockets of yesterday's jeans. He was relieved when he felt the flat smooth edge of his cell phone. He then folded the badly creased jeans and laid them neatly over the edge of the desk chair. As he shook out his black shirt, something pink slid onto the floor. _Shit! Shit! Shit!_

Booth knew without looking up that she had to have seen Charlotte's scarf. He grabbed it and threw it over his jeans before smoothing his shirt over the top – removing any trace of the tell-tale brightly coloured material.

"What time do you need to check out?" She asked looking at her watch. Booth listened hard but her tone gave nothing away. He was torn between wanting her to ask about the scarf, so that he could tell her it meant nothing, and being scared as hell that she'd bring it up.

"It's dead round here this time of year and so I don't need to leave until twelve. I promised my buddy that I'd drop by before I left and if you wanna come with me, maybe on the way back we could grab some breakfast."

"Okay." She said putting her jacket back on. Maybe her tone was a little clipped, short. But it was nothing he could call her on and besides, what could he say? _Hey, Bones...I saw you noticed that I have a woman's scarf buried in my dirty clothes ...shall we talk about it? Do you want to know what happened? Are you in the least bit curious? _

"I know a great little place not far from here." His heart was hammering in his chest and he found it difficult to maintain eye contact. "Let me call in your findings first and we'll head on over."

* * *

"That's right, Charlie...we need to focus our search on mountaineering axes. Dr. Brennan has confirmed that the axe is 55cm to 60cm long, with a curved pick. You got that? Good. Look, I'll be back in D.C. later this afternoon and we'll catch up then."

Booth killed the call and maintained his focus on the snow covered road ahead. The Cruiser's wipers were barely able to keep the fresh snow from building up against the windscreen as they continued towards the bay. The snow had started to fall in earnest as soon as he and Brennan had climbed into the SUV and just five minutes later he was starting to think that breakfast might have to wait.

"Man...it's really coming down. There's no way you can drive your car back to D.C. in this." He said leaning forward in his seat and trying to peer through the fleeting gaps in the quick falling flakes. He dropped down a gear and reduced his speed.

"I agree – I'll catch a ride with you and come back for mine once the weather eases up."

"You know you really oughta think about upgrading from that toy car you drive around in, Bones."

"Why?"

"You're asking me, why? What use is it in this kind of weather?"

"About as much good as yours apparently." She said smugly as the rear of the car slid slightly to the left.

Booth gripped the wheel tighter and wondered for how much longer they would be able to carry on. The snow was getting heavier by the minute and he could no longer discern the edges of the sidewalk from the road. The last thing he wanted was to bounce them against the curb and maybe do some serious damage to the car.

"Maybe we should pull over?" Brennan suggested as the SUV skidded, this time more forcefully, before gaining traction again.

With visibility now at close to zero, Booth nodded his agreement and steered them to the side of the road. He pulled the car to a slow, controlled stop in front of a tackle and bait shop. He suppressed a sigh. His mini-vacation was going from bad to worse. He'd had that horribly vivid dream about Bones and then he'd thrown up and spent the best part of the night prostrate on the bathroom floor. Then there was Charlotte. Then there was the scarf that he knew Brennan had seen.

And...now the snow. And now the silence - the awful silence that was bubbling away just below the surface of their attempts at conversation and their attempts at banter, at normalcy. One false move and he knew they'd be swallowed whole by it.

After what seemed like hours to Booth, she was the first to speak. "Perhaps it would be advisable to walk back to the B this snow doesn't look like it's going to clear anytime soon."

"I hate to say it, but I think you're right. Come on, Bones...let's get going."

Booth climbed out into the chilled air and jogged round to the rear of the car to claim his black ski jacket from the trunk. Once he'd zipped up, he pulled up the hood and hurried round to meet her. Brennan was bending over by the open passenger door, tightening the laces on her brown leather hiking boots. "You ready to go?" He asked as he pulled on a pair of thick gloves.

They estimated that they had driven perhaps 2-3 miles and started the walk back to the B&B at a steady but brisk pace. The snow stung their faces as the wind speed increased and made the relatively short walk all the more tiring and unpleasant. They didn't speak. Booth wondered if she was keeping quiet because of the cold, because of the snow that made it difficult to see where the hell it was you were walking. Or maybe her reasons were the same as his...she was thinking about that _damn_ scarf. Only one car passed by them as they made slow progress through the ever deepening cover of snow. By the time they had the B&B in sight, the snow was almost knee deep and the sky darkened above them, promising that more would follow.

Booth stamped his boots against the tread of the bottom wooden step which led up to the front door of the B&B. Brennan did the same and then they both hurried inside.

"Oh my! Here...let me help you take off those wet coats."

Brennan thanked the elderly woman who rushed to meet them and helped her shrug out of her heavy jacket. If it's alright with you...I'll put these in the kitchen. The stove is on and they'll dry out in no time." Booth also handed over his jacket, offering his thanks. "Now, why don't you two get changed out of those wet clothes and I'll brew us all up a nice mug of hot coffee." With that, she was gone, leaving them standing in the open-fire warmed entranceway.

"Who was that?" Brennan asked as she swept her long, slightly damp hair back behind her ears.

"That was Marge. Proprietor of the best B&B in town...also she makes the best banana bran muffins and her breakfasts are nothing short of legendary."

"Oooh, don't mention breakfast. I'm famished." Brennan said a little grumpily.

"Tell me about it." Booth concurred as he tried not to picture a plate of bacon and eggs.

"So you wanna get changed? You can use my room?" He asked looking down at her jeans, the shins of which were caked in snow.

"What do you suggest I get changed into? I don't travel everywhere with a change of clothes stashed in my trunk like you do." Yeah, there was a definite snippy tone to her voice. Booth ignored it. Besides, he was the one who asked such a stupid question.

"Um...I have a clean pair of sweatpants you could wear."

"It's fine. I'll sit by the fire...I'll dry off in no time."

"Bones, your jeans are soaked through – take the sweatpants, okay?"

"Booth, really..."

"I'm freezing which means that you are freezing. Come on, don't fight me on this." He grabbed her ice cold hand and pulled her towards the stairs.

"Booth, I look ridiculous. I can't go back downstairs dressed like this." Brennan shouted from inside the bathroom.

"I'll bet you a thousand bucks you don't look anything of the sort." He laughed as he kicked off his own wet pants and pulled on yesterday's jeans. He made sure that his shirt stayed in place over the rose pink scarf. He was tempted to throw it in the trash, or maybe out of the window but knowing his luck, she'd walk in to catch him in the act. Then he'd really have some explaining to do.

"A thousand bucks, you say?" Brennan said as she opened the door and walked into the bedroom.

He fastened the top button on his jeans and tried not to laugh. His sweatpants were way too big for her. Despite her valiant attempt to gather much of the excess material and roll it at her waist; the toes of her brown boots were only just visible.

"Okay, maybe a thousand bucks is pushing it." He laughed in earnest now and she placed her hands on her hips and stared daggers at him which only made him laugh all the more.

"I'm not leaving this room until my pants are dry." She huffed, but wasn't able to keep a hint of a smile from her lips.

"Aw, come on, Bones...who's gonna see ya? The place is probably empty apart from us. Besides, don't you want that cup of coffee?"

"I do. I _do _want that cup of coffee." She groaned and smoothed her blue dress shirt over the top of the bunched material.

"So let's go then." He said

As good as her word, Marge returned just as they made it to the bottom of the staircase. She was carrying a small wooden tray, on top of which rested two mugs of steaming coffee. The smell of the coffee hit Booth square in the gut and he wondered if he should push his luck and ask her if she had a couple of muffins back in the kitchen.

"Now, tell me, have you two eaten? I noticed that you skipped breakfast, Mr Booth." He wanted to hug Marge.

"No. We've haven't eaten." He said hopefully.

"Tsk tsk...you two go on and get yourselves comfy in the Morning Room and I'll bring you through something. I'm afraid that I can't do a repeat of breakfast because I'm all out of sausage."

"Whatever you can rustle up would be just great, Marge." He smiled gratefully.

The Morning Room was a light, airy space filled with wicker tables and chairs that looked out onto the large garden. The walls were painted off white and the decorative china plates which adorned two of the smaller walls blended with the large cornflower-blue rug which covered most of the hardwood floor. Marge had told Booth the last time he'd stayed that she had won awards for her perfectly manicured garden. Today, however, the results of Marge's green fingers were not on display, as the large lawn, shrubs and plentiful fruit trees were hidden under a thick cover of endless white.

Booth sipped his coffee and stared out at the blank, unrecognisable view. Usually finding something to talk about was never an issue with Bones. But now he couldn't think of a single thing to say. He didn't want to talk about the case, although he knew this would be the safer, more intelligent option. He wanted to talk about how he felt. How he wished that he could rewind the events of the night before and make it okay again. He wondered if she would understand his feelings of regret or whether she would chastise him for being overly sentimental about something which really was none of her business. He found that putting words into her mouth came easily. _Booth, your need to satisfy your biological urges is perfectly understandable. All mammals need that release of serotonin, that rush of endorphins. _

He allowed himself a quick glance at her and damn it if she wasn't looking straight at him. He took a mouthful of his still-too-hot coffee and muttered something about checking the weather report to see when it might be safe to journey back to D.C. The hot liquid burned his tongue and he cursed at his own idiocy. _Pull yourself together, Seeley! _Silence reined again and he returned to the view of the garden.

"Here you go. Now, you let me know if I can get you anything else, okay?" Marge placed two large plates on the table in front of them, one stacked high with pancakes, and the other covered in bacon and scrambled eggs. Herb will be along with some fruit and I'll pop back later with some muffins.

They thanked Marge again and tucked in. Booth lifted one of the plates and tilted it so that Brennan could slide off some of the scrambled egg. He did the same with the pancakes.

"Thanks." She said quietly as she folded a piece of the buttermilk pancake into her mouth. She grinned as she chewed enthusiastically.

"Good, right?" He asked his mouth full of crisp bacon and pancake.

"Sooo good." She confirmed spearing another cut square with her fork.

When breakfast was finished they returned their plates to the kitchen and thanked Marge again. She felt their jackets and found that they were dry. Booth took both of them from her and asked if she might be able to rent them a couple of rooms for the night if the weather didn't clear.

"It's not a problem, Mr Booth. Herb is visiting his sister in town later and won't be back till tomorrow and so the company will be nice."

"Thanks. Also, I wondered if you knew if there was somewhere close by where we could pick up some dinner later...that's if we are ever hungry again." Booth smiled and patted his stomach.

"The closest store is maybe a mile away and restaurants maybe couple of miles more. Looking at it out there, I wouldn't recommend you make the journey. Besides, I'd be happy to cook you both something."

"We wouldn't want to put you to any trouble." Booth said.

"It's no trouble, hun. I have a couple of steaks chilling as we speak – what about a nice steak and vegetable pie? It'll keep the chill out."

"That sounds wonderful, Marge, but..."

"I'm vegetarian." Brennan interjected.

"Oh, Lord...the bacon. I'm sorry, darlin'."

"No. No. I should have said something before. Besides, I had more than enough to eat." Brennan said trying to alleviate the woman's obvious regret.

"I could make up a bowl of vegetable chilli, or perhaps a vegetable casserole?"

"Either would be great. Would you like some help...I'm quite skilled in the kitchen."

"How nice of you to offer. Sure, hun. I'll let you know when I'm ready and we'll get to it - it gets lonely in this big ole' kitchen all by myself."

* * *

They spent the remainder of the morning and all of the afternoon ensconced in his room. Bones was stretched out on the bed busily tapping away on her laptop, she told him tidying up one of the chapters of her latest book, while Booth mostly paced the room and tried to keep abreast of what was going on back at the Hoover Building. Charlie had put out the word that they were looking for a mountaineering axe of some sort and O'Hanlon was managing the electronic search for murders or attacks which involved the use of such a weapon. Everybody was doing their job but Booth wanted to be there, in the thick of things. Sweets would conclude that he had control issues. He sighed as he ended his latest call to O'Hanlon – Sweets was right.

"So, how's the book coming, Bones?" Booth asked as he sat down at the desk, his back rested against his shirt and he again was reminded of the scarf that still hid underneath the black material.

"Um...it's going okay. I still have a way to go with it."

"I'm sure it'll be great." He turned his body round to face her.

"You always say that, Booth." She frowned slightly and continued to tap away.

"And I'm always right." He countered, his smile not catching her attention.

"That'll be Marge." She said as a knock sounded against the door. Brennan climbed off the bed and walked over to answer the door.

"I'm ready when you are, hun." Marge said and Brennan assured her that she would be down to help out in just a minute.

Booth dialled Charlie again while Brennan walked through to the bathroom to change back into her jeans which they had left to dry on the bathroom radiator. He was listening to the other agent explaining some of the leads they had picked up thanks to the tip off about the axe when she came back into the room and powered down her laptop. Booth noticed that she had swept her long hair up into a loose ponytail. He tried not to stare, but looking at her was like breathing. He _needed _to do it.

He had been trying since breakfast to manage the excitement he felt when he thought about the prospect of spending the evening with her, all alone, far away from work and the other usual distractions. He continued to watch her, continued to stare. He noticed the way the tendrils of soft hair which were too short to gather into the ponytail fell softly against her delicate neck. He noticed that her jeans clung to her thighs like a second skin. He noticed the way that the third button strained a little against the buttonhole on her blue shirt. Booth knew with a flick of his finger he could work it loose.

She closed the lid and tidied the laptop away into her bag. She turned to him and he felt his face grow warm. She couldn't know what he had just been thinking, but _he_ knew, and that was enough to knock him off balance.

"I'll be down soon." He said, placing his hand over the cell, momentarily muting the agent's voice. She mouthed "Okay" as she closed the door behind her. He took in a deep breath and tried to concentrate on what a rather harassed sounding Charlie had to say.

Booth took quick shower before putting on the jeans and black t-shirt he had been wearing earlier. As he sat on the edge of the bed and laced up his sneakers, he looked directly ahead at the black shirt he had worn the night before. He remembered how Charlotte had clutched the bottom of it tightly in her hands as she pulled him closer and how she had roughly pulled at the collar so that she could kiss his neck. He tried not to think about what he had done to her.

On the way out he turned off the light, sending the bedroom into darkness. As he descended the stairs, Booth could smell something amazing coming from the direction of the kitchen. Suddenly, breakfast seemed like a very long time ago. From his vantage point at the top run of stairs, he could see through the living room archway into the Morning Room. Candles illuminated the smaller space and he noticed that the table they had sat at earlier was only set for two.

His attention was drawn back to the direction of the kitchen as Bones appeared carrying a large tray.

"Your timing is perfect." She said not stopping to say more.

When he reached the bottom step, Marge met up with him; she was also carrying a tray.

"Here. Let me take that from you." He said holding out his hands.

"Thank you, hun. Your lady friend was just about to call you for dinner – I guess you're like my Hank, you just know when dinner is on the table."

"Yeah. Something like that. So, are you going to join us, Marge?"

"Oh, that would be lovely but I've already eaten. I wait past seven o'clock to eat, and I'm up all night with heartburn. Besides, I wouldn't want to impose."

"It's your home, you wouldn't be imposing. Besides, if not for you, Bones and I would be going hungry tonight."

"You call your girlfriend, Bones?" She smiled, somewhat confused.

"She's not my girlfriend."

"Oh, sorry – it's just that I know you asked for two rooms for the night, but you seem so close...I thought perhaps you were dating."

"Um...we're partners. Work partners." He smiled kindly.

"What a silly woman I am...I just assumed that you were together. I hope I didn't cause any offense?"

"Please, don't worry. We get that a lot."

"I'll bet." Marge said smiling knowingly.

Booth thanked her again for the meal and walked through to the Morning Room. Brennan had poured him a glass of red wine and was just filling her own glass when she looked up to see him enter the room.

"Marge is a very impressive cook. I think you'll enjoy your steak pie." She said blotting the red liquid that ran down the neck of the wine bottle with the edge of her napkin.

"Your vegetable thingy doesn't smell half bad either." He said setting the tray down on the next table. He handed her the warmed plate and sat down in front of his own. He waited until she was seated in front of him, and had placed her napkin on her lap before he picked up his glass.

"I propose a toast." He said smiling as she reached for her glass and raised it level with his own.

"Isn't that my line?" She joked and he felt his smile turn into a full on grin.

"To snow storms." He said, and brought his glass against hers, the small clinking sound amplified in the absence of any ambient noise.

"Why snow storms?" She queried before taking a sip of her wine.

"You aren't supposed to question another person's toast, Bones." He sensed that a follow-up question was on the tip of her tongue. "It's the rules. Now dig in."

He was thankful when she picked up her fork and began to eat. Sometimes he just couldn't help but sail close to the wind. Yes, he was grateful for the snow storm, it had kept them together. He was sitting opposite her now because of it. But did he really need to spell that out for her? Did he need to make it so obvious? Booth took a sip of his wine and chanced a look at her. He could discern little from her expression. Maybe there wasn't anything to learn. Maybe he may as well have toasted the moon for all it registered with her.

He took another sip of wine and cheered himself with the thought that he had the rest of the evening to sit there and agonise over what the hell she might be thinking.

* * *

_**SN: Next chapter – Booth and Brennan finish their main course and decide to have each other for dessert. Okay...so I'm kidding (maybe) – stay tuned, folks.**_


	15. The White Rose

_**AN: We pick up where the last chapter left off – Booth and Brennan are holed up in a B&B, due to a very convenient snow storm...**_

_**I hoped to show that sometimes Booth is just a little frustrating, at least to me. I think he knows that there have been moments when he should have just leaned in that bit closer and kissed Brennan. Those moments are perhaps not so obvious now, the 'moment' in the Egyptian exhibit at the museum aside, but still, he's had the opportunity to plant one on her. But he hasn't. His reasons for not doing so are likely more complicated in the minds of the show's writers than in my mind, but it's fun to speculate. **_

_**Thanks**__** for reading. **_

_**And to all you lucky Canadians...happy 100**__**th**__** episode! **_

_**Disclaimer: I still don't own them.**_

* * *

_**The White Rose – John Boyle O'Reilly **_

_The red rose whispers of passion,_

_And the white rose breathes of love;_

_O, the red rose is a falcon,_

_And the white rose is a dove._

_But I send you a cream-white rosebud_

_With a flush on its petal tips;_

_For the love that is purest and sweetest_

_Has a kiss of desire on the lips._

* * *

Booth settled back into the brown leather armchair, the heat from the open fire covered him like a warm blanket - he knew he could quite easily doze off sitting there. Brennan had gone to the kitchen to help Marge with the dishes (he'd half-heartedly offered to lend a hand) and, rather than wait for her at the dining table, he'd moved into the lounge and taken up occupancy of one of the high-backed chairs placed in front of the large stone fireplace. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, evenly...yes, falling asleep would be oh so easy.

The minutes passed.

He was unaware that his left hand was slowly inching towards the edge of the armrest, when finally his hand slipped over the side, his palm turned outwards; he was no longer present in the moment. He was lost to that in-between space that existed between sleep and consciousness. It was too soon to start dreaming. Too soon to be unaware of every noise that happened around him. But he couldn't know that his chest was rising and falling in constant, steady motion and that his head had fallen forward, slightly to one side. He couldn't know that Brennan had walked soundlessly into the room. He couldn't know that she had stopped in her tracks and was simply staring at him. He couldn't know that her expression was a mixture of curiosity, guilt and desire. He couldn't know that she continued to stare...

"Hun...here's that bottle of wine...now, before you say "no" again, remember that I have countless bottles in the cellar, more than enough for me and Herb."

Booth opened his eyes and quickly straightened up. How long had he been out? _ It can't have been long...Bones is only just getting back...she hasn't even sat down yet. _He twisted in the chair so that he could watch Marge approaching with a tray containing the bottle of wine and two glasses. Brennan was turned, facing the other woman and was trying to turn down her offer, but it quickly became apparent that Marge wasn't going to take no for an answer. He honestly wasn't sure if splitting another bottle of wine with Brennan was a good idea but he was too tired to think it through in any more detail than that.

"We're going to have to leave Marge a handsome tip when we check out tomorrow." Brennan said watching the elderly woman's retreating form as she sat down in the chair next to his.

Booth nodded his agreement when she then turned to look at him. He motioned to the bottle of Chardonnay that rested on the small mahogany table between their chairs and she shrugged her shoulders, indicating that she wasn't sure if they should open it or not. "If we open it, Bones, you're gonna have to help me drink it."

"I guess it would be rude to return it to Marge and I agree if we open it, we have to drink it...all of it."

Booth uncorked the bottle and poured the light honey coloured liquid into the clean glasses Marge had placed on the same tray.

"Ugh, I'm not going to have a headache tomorrow, am I?" She said frowning, and Booth smiled.

"Nah, Bones, it's only red wine that you need to worry about. Well, I guess if you drink enough of either you'll get a headache, but we're still on the right side of wrong with this bottle."

"You know it's likely a myth that red wine causes more headaches than white wine."

"It is? I thought it was something to do with 'sulphites' or 'sulphants' or something like that." He questioned as he finished pouring a generous measure into her glass.

"Many people fault sulphites as the cause because it's assumed, mistakenly, that red wines contain more sulphur dioxide, which when in solution forms sulphites – but actually, the reverse is true. As white wines need more protection from oxygen than red wines, S02 is added which acts as an antioxidant. It's more likely that histamines are at the root of the problem as these are more common in red wines. Histamines cause blood vessels to expand or contract, causing pressure in the head –which then can lead to headaches."

"Huh. Well, isn't that something. Bottom's up, Bones." He said raising his glass to hers.

"You're teasing me." She stated, narrowing her eyes before taking a sip of the chilled wine.

"No. I'm...okay, I may be teasing you just a little."

He took a drink and watched as she swallowed a second sip. Not for the first time that night he considered how utterly beautiful she was.

"So, you really think we have a chance of catching him now that we know which type of weapon he used on Amy Decker?"

"Our chances have improved, yeah. What you uncovered will help to point our guys in the right direction. It's another piece of the puzzle...another step closer. I just hope we're close enough to stop him hurting anyone else."

"Me too." She said quietly and then looked away.

"Bones, what you do...it's amazing. I couldn't do this without you." He hated to see her look so unsure and scared. He knew she was just as worried as he was that somewhere out there a young woman or girl was breathing her last breath, saying her last prayer, as the Jackrabbit murderer added another name to his kill list.

"You've expressed that sentiment before."

"I know. But I figure it's worth saying more than once." He wanted to take her hand, to show her that he meant every word he said. Instead he grasped his wine glass tighter and took another sip.

Brennan rested back into the comfortable leather chair and turned her face towards the fire. She looked unsettled, upset maybe. Booth wondered if he had said the right thing. Maybe she didn't want to be reminded how much he relied on her. Maybe it was too much for her to hear. Maybe she wanted an easier life. Hell, he couldn't blame her. The moments passed again, the only audible sound coming from the crackling of the open fire.

"The lives we're saved, the murderer's we've caught...it's because of you, Booth. I do what I do because you asked me. Because you showed me what I could achieve...because you showed me that I could make a difference in the world. You once told me that you pulled me out of pure science and into murder-solving...you're right, you did that...and I guess I never said thank you."

"That's not; you don't have to say that. I'm the one who..."

"Booth, don't try and back away from my words. Don't doubt or try and avoid their meaning. I'm saying thank you. You _need_ to let me say thank you."

"Bones....I...you are..." The words felt thick on his tongue, they jammed against his teeth and despite what burned in his heart, he couldn't tell her. He couldn't tell her yet. _ You're the reason I can still do what I do. You keep the dark away. You give me the strength to keep on fighting. You are my love. You are the light._

"So, we're going to catch him. You, me, Charlie, Hodgins, Cam and Angela...we're _going _to catch him."

She raised her glass to his and he saw the determination flickering in her eyes. He swallowed and said the only words he was capable of saying.

"We're gonna catch him, Bones. All of us. Like always."

* * *

Marge returned just as Booth emptied the last of the wine into Brennan's glass. She set another bottle down on the small table which separated their chairs. She smiled. The two of them were sat facing the orangey glow of the fire, their arms resting on the edge of the chair, their hands mere centimetres from touching. _"Work partners"_, she mused.

"Marge...we couldn't possibly drink another bottle...we..." Brennan exclaimed as she turned to look at Booth for confirmation. She half sighed when he simply shrugged and smiled at their host.

"Nonsense, darlin'. The night is still young and it'll help to keep the cold out. Besides, I already opened this one. I managed a glass but can't drink anymore – I wouldn't want it to spoil."

"Thanks, Marge." Booth said as he stretched out in the chair. He felt the warmth of the fire creep up his shins and although he didn't think it was possible, he felt even more comfortable. The truth was he wanted another drink. He wanted to feel numb around the edges. Feeling that way took his mind off the case, off the pile of work waiting for him back at the office and from feeling sick to his stomach when he remembered what had happened between him and Charlotte the night before.

He wasn't about to deny that she didn't feel good beneath his hands, and that when she touched him he didn't respond, but none of it felt real. He hadn't felt in control, not really. When she had come undone against his hand, he wasn't truly present in the moment. He heard her panting and calling his name but it was like he was someplace else.

It was when she had tried to take off his shirt that reality intruded and he had backed away. Charlotte had been a good sport. She told him that she felt bad having all the fun and then leaving but he knew she was confused by his sudden change of heart, maybe even a little bit hurt by it. So, she had left and he had paced the room like a caged animal. He had to fight hard with himself not to pick up the phone and call Brennan. He wanted to confess all. He wanted her to know that he had just kicked a beautiful and sexy woman out of his room all because he wanted to know if he stood even the slightest chance with her. He truly believed at the time if it weren't for all the booze he'd thrown down his throat, he'd have jumped in the car and driven back to D.C. to confront her in person. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, he had to concede that if not for the booze, he probably wouldn't have felt that brave in the first place.

He felt her move next to him. He heard the sound of liquid being poured into a glass. He heard her take a long sip. He continued to look at the fire, the edges of the larger pieces of firewood were charred black and deeply lined, but in the centre, the heart of the fire burned brightly. His cheeks felt hot, a case of the wine mixing with the heat from the fire but he didn't want to move back. He wanted to stay as close to her as he dared. For as long as they dared, or for as long as the wine kept flowing, whichever came last? It was just as he finished his first glass of the new wine that Brennan finally broke the silence.

"I think I may be a little intoxicated." She said as she set her wine glass down heavily on the table.

"How can you be sure?" He said smiling and twisting round in his chair to look at her.

"Well, I can't be sure but my face is flushed, at least I think it is, and that green pot next to the fireplace is a little blurry..."

"Bones, you could be flushed because of the heat from the fire."

"True. But coupled with the blurriness and my poor coordination...I almost missed the table when I put down my glass...leads me to conclude that I am likely inebriated."

"You're tipsy at best."

"Define "tipsy"?" She said adopting the cool look of concentration he knew so well.

"Happy, merry, gregarious...less controlled...you know, tipsy?"

"That's totally unscientific."

"Fine. You tell me what..." He didn't get the chance to finish before she launched into her explanation.

"Although not the case in every person, it's been proven that a blood alcohol concentration of between 0.03 to 0.12% can cause improvement in mood, increased self-confidence and sociability, a flushed appearance, inhibited judgment and impaired fine muscle coordination. I would suggest that my blood alcohol concentration may range to 0.25% which would bring into play, sedation, ataxia, balance difficulty and blurred vision."

"Fine, so we've proven that you're a very analytical drunk." He smiled as she pointed out that she wasn't in fact drunk, just...he blocked out all the science because it made his head spin...essentially she concluded that she was on her way to being drunk, but that she wasn't there yet.

"So, I guess the question is, Bones, do you wanna get there?"

"Get where?"

"Drunk. Do you wanna get drunk?"

"I've never been drunk before, just a little intoxicated. The sensation is quite pleasing."

"Yes it is." He finished off his own glass and concluded that he was also "a little intoxicated".

"I'm not sure I want to get drunk. I've never seen the point of making a fool of yourself and then vomiting up the contents of your stomach. It seems a useless and dangerous waste of time."

"That's 'drunk drunk', Bones. I mean drunk in a good way...you know a little beyond tipsy...a little more outta control."

"Drunk drunk" and "tipsy" – none of those terms make sense to me."

"Sure they do. Tipsy is where we're at right now...a little drunk is where we'll be if we finish off this bottle. Drunk drunk is where we'd be if we drink another bottle, maybe two."

"Are you "tipsy"?" She asked scrutinising him in a way that both unnerved him and made him a little hotter under the collar.

"Yeah."

"Do _you _want to get a little drunk?"

"Sure. A little drunk can be fun." He half filled his glass and set the bottle down. He wanted her to make up her own mind.

"Do you think I'll find it fun?"

"You won't know until you try, I guess."

"You're proposing an experiment?"

"I am." He confirmed as he took a long drink. He smiled as she filled her own glass half full and took a sip.

"The strongest arguments prove nothing so long as the conclusions are not verified by experience. Experimental science is the queen of sciences and the goal of all speculation."

"That's profound." Booth said marvelling at the way smart things rolled off her tongue like it was nothing.

"I can't take credit – Roger Bacon said that. I studied him in high school and he's always been an inspiration to me. He placed considerable emphasis on empiricism, on true experimental science at a time when these practices were frowned upon. He is sometimes credited as one of the earliest European advocates of the modern scientific method."

"So, let's drink to Roger Bacon." Booth said as she smiled broadly and raised her glass to her lips.

* * *

Later:

"Okay, Bones...now what about your favourite movie?"

"The Mummy." The Karloff version, not the later 1959 movie."

"Who was the mummy in the later version?"

"Christopher Lee." She replied pouring them another glass of wine. The bottle was left only a quarter full.

"That's the one I've seen."

"What did you think?" She said taking a sip.

"It was okay. I guess I can't get excited about those types of movies. I mean, most of them are more or less the same. The mummy is awakened (most likely by accident) only to discover that the princess he left back in Egypt bears a striking resemblance to a modern-day woman that is unlucky enough to cross his path and so he tries to mummify her and make her his bride. Oh, and along the way he scares a bunch of people."

"I'm surprised, given that you profess to be a romantic that you didn't discern the deeper meaning, the real story."

"Which would be?"

"At its heart, the mummy genre is about lost love. Karloff's mummy, despite being dry as dust, searches over the centuries for his long-lost love. The power of the film lies in the fact that by the end you sense the essential humanity that exists in the form of a supernatural character, a monster. You feel that his love is real and in turn you feel kindness, an understanding for the monster."

"I think someone had it bad for ole' Karloff." He grinned not able to take his eyes off her.

"Booth, the mummy is hidden for most of the movie."

"The director kept him under wraps, eh?" She threw her head back and laughed. Booth put it mostly down to the wine and not his comedic prowess.

"Actually, I prefer Chaney's 'mummy' but the 1932 film is the best. The early Kharis mummy was the first to show what has now become a stereotype - the lumbering, foot-dragging monster - but I like the darkness, the moody atmospheric quality of Karloff's imagining of Imhotep. What about you? What's your favourite movie?"

"Huh. Would you be disappointed if I said "Weekend at Bernie's"?"

"Seeing as I don't know what the film is about, it's hard to say."

"Ah, ignore me...not really, okay? My favourite movie is One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest."

"I've seen that movie. I watched it with my Dad once. It's very sad."

"It's heartbreaking, Bones. Heartbreaking. But, it's uplifting at the same time, you know, and well, who doesn't dig Jack."

"Okay...favourite song. You go first." They had been playing this game for the past twenty minutes – the first ten of which were taken up by Brennan agonising over which book took top honours over the thousands that she had read. Booth took less time to pick but he suspected that she thought he was kidding when he selected "How the Grinch Stole Christmas." But truly, it was his favourite and Parker's too. However, picking one song above any other, now that was tough, impossible, probably.

"I can't pick. You go first." He said scanning through a list of songs in his head.

"Easy. Poco – "Keep on Trying". It reminds me of my Dad and of finding your way back home, of finding safety...a place to belong."

The memory of sitting at the Diner opposite her singing that very song flashed in his mind and he was reminded of just how long they had been doing this dance. He was tired of moving his feet with no destination, no rest in sight. At first circling each other, sizing each other up had been exciting, challenging, but now he needed to believe that they could be more than sparing partners, colleagues, and more than friends. He needed more, so much more. And she needed what? Time? Space? Temporary love affairs. Fleeting connections? Someone else. No one at all? Talk about _heartbreaking_.

"So, what's your choice, Booth?"

He eventually narrowed his list down to music by Bruce Springsteen, classic Motown, some freeform jazz classics by Ornette Coleman and John Coltrane and lastly, the tried and tested magic of Dean Martin. Despite Brennan's insistence that 'favourite' in this context meant just one song, he refused to further confine his choices. It was just too hard.

The game of 'favourites' played on and Booth was powerless to resist the dance, their dance – he imagined that they were standing on top of an old vinyl record, facing each other, arguing, smiling, flirting...over and over again as they spun endlessly on a giant turntable. When the room began to spin in time with the imaginary record, he realised that the wine was affecting him more than he'd anticipated.

He finished the last sip of wine in his glass and he too noticed that the green pot by the fireplace moved right to left, depending on how he looked at it. In fact the only thing that wasn't a little blurry was Brennan. She stood out, prominent and sharp against an ever moving backdrop. Her cheeks were flushed and a little of the blush had crept down her neck and had spread across the few inches of skin he could see in the V of her partly unbuttoned shirt. Her eyes were a little glazed and if not for the fact that her words were a little slurred; he would have put it down to tiredness. Their experiment had been a success – they were both a 'little drunk'.

This would have been fun, liberating maybe, if not for the fact that he was now finding it almost impossible not to touch her. Her hand rested inches from his and in order to avoid reaching out; he stuffed his hands at his sides and squashed them against the sides of the leather chair. Not touching her was fast becoming a full time occupation. Not telling her what was on his mind...what tormented him night and day was perhaps the hardest thing he had ever done. It went against his nature. It ran contrary to his notion of common sense...but he just couldn't tell her. Not until he was sure. Not until he could claim to himself that hope existed. To do otherwise was madness. To risk everything, their partnership, their friendship, without feeling that hope existed was not an option. He might be lovesick, but he wasn't 'certifiable', at least not yet.

"Shall we go to bed?" She said yawning and stretched her lithe body before him. Her hands were raised over her head; her long legs were cast forward, inches from the ground. Her breasts rose and her blue shirt pulled tight across her chest and back. _ Keep your hands to yourself, Seeley! Think of something else: work, playing ball with Parker...shit, it's not working...okay Grandma Booth...think about Grandma Booth!_

"Are you okay, Booth? You have an odd look on your face."

"Huh? Oh yeah, I'm good...just tired."

"So let's go to bed." She stood up and placed her empty glass next to his on the tray. He got to his feet, and after taking a brief moment to re-focus, he picked up the tray and together they walked to the kitchen. They rinsed the glasses and tossed the wine bottle into the recycling box they found by the walk-in larder. Her words: "let's go to bed" played over and over as he climbed the staircase up to their rooms.

When she reached for her room key and slid it into the lock, he forced his voice to maintain an even tone as he wished her a good night. She turned and gave him a look that sent his mind into overdrive and his stomach into knots.

"Do you want to come in for a coffee? A machine and some mugs are provided with the room."

For one glittering, elucidating moment he believed he could read her mind. She wanted him. And oh, how _he_ wanted coffee. He _wanted _coffee so bad he could taste it. She looked at her feet and then up at the door. Then she looked back at him and her expression was unchanged, if anything she appeared more confident. He knew. He _just knew_ that if he followed into her room there would be no going back. He wouldn't be able to back down. He would kiss her before she closed the door behind them. He would manoeuvre her to the bed and lay her down, never breaking their kiss. He would lose himself in her and he would try like hell to make her lose herself in him.

"I'm kinda beat, Bones. Can I take a rain check?"

"Of course. Well, I'll see you tomorrow. Is 6:30 a.m. too early to wake you?"

"No. I'll be up. Goodnight, Bones."

"Goodnight, Booth."

She closed the door as he stood facing his own door, his key gripped tightly in his hand. Sure, he'd be up by 6:30 a.m. - he honestly doubted if he'd sleep at all.

He closed the door behind him and walked to the large bed. He sat down, his feet planted firmly on the stripped rug. His hands dug into the soft mattress and he stared at the yellow patterned wall ahead. He could have been next door, kissing her, touching her. He could be doing his very best to make her body twist and turn at his touch. He could be loving her...and she would call out his name; he'd make sure of it. _Fuck! What's your problem? Isn't this just what you wanted? Surrender. Surrender to it. _

But would she surrender to him? Would she surrender anything more than her body? Would she explain it all away in the morning as a case of too much wine and too many hormones...blah, blah, blah. No. He was going to kiss her stone cold sober. He was going to make love to her when there wasn't the slightest hint of alcohol on her lips. He would love her in the light, not roll around blindly in the dark. He'd commit the reality of them together to memory. Just in case memories were all he was left with the next morning.

Booth leaned over and switched off the lamp by the bed. The room was immediately encased in darkness. He remained seated at the edge of the bed. He closed his eyes and placed his left hand over his heart. _I love you. I love you. I love you. _He repeated over in his head until he was sick of hearing it.

* * *

The Next Day:

As it turned out, they had to wait until the afternoon of the next day before they set off back to D.C. Brennan was cross to have left her car behind but knew there was no way it would make it safely back home. As it was, Booth's Cruiser struggled on the smaller roads, but by the time they made it to the freeway, most of the snow and ice had been cleared and so the rest of the journey passed by uneventfully.

Booth dropped Brennan off at the Jeffersonian before he headed to the Hoover Building. When he reached his office, he found his in-tray was lost under a sea of paperwork and part of him wished the snow storm had kept him prisoner in Maryland a little longer. He logged on to his email and spent the next half an hour sorting through non-urgent and urgent work. Charlie knocked on his office door and he called for him to come in.

"Booth – glad you made it back. Things have been kinda crazy round here. Oh, here, I got you a coffee."

"Thanks, Charlie. Ugh...this is cold!"

"Is it? I just poured it. Well, actually, I guess I made it a while ago now - sorry, I guess I spent longer talking to Rios than I thought."

"Well thanks for the thought, I guess. So, take a seat and bring me up to speed."

Booth kept Charlie talking for the next hour, until he was sure he was cognisant of the latest developments in the Jackrabbit case. By the end, the other agent looked a little browbeaten. As Charlie left his office, Booth's desk phone rang.

"Booth?"

"Riley?"

"Yeah. I got your voicemail message - so, you made it back okay?"

"Yeah. Just about. Look, sorry I couldn't drop by and say goodbye in person."

"Hey, no worries. You're an important guy, you have a lot on. I get that."

"Shucks, Rile...you're making me blush."

"Funny. The day you blush at anything is the day I win the lottery."

"You'd be surprised. So, tell me, are you calling from the boat? No, actually don't tell me. I'll just get pissed that I'm not there with you. Man, I'm sat here looking at my in-tray and I gotta tell ya, sometimes I think you have the right idea."

"Sure, you'd like it at first because it's a novelty, but you know you'd miss the job and the suit. My life is a little too haphazard for you, Seel."

"You saying I'm a slave to structure?"

"No. But you gotta admit that you like to live a life of order - first the army and now government service. I guess I'm saying that what I would find suffocating, you find comforting."

"Heh, I'm not sure "comforting" is the right word.

They chatted for a few minutes more before Booth ended the call – he'd spied O'Hanlon in the main office and wanted to try and make amends for blowing up at him the previous evening.

It was approaching midnight when Booth finally made it home. He dropped his olive-green duffel bag on the floor by the kitchen table and he paused only to run himself a glass of water before walking through to the bedroom and laying down on the bed. He was too tired to take his clothes off, even his boots and too exhausted to make it into the bathroom for a shower. His mouth felt stale but there was no way he had the energy to brush his teeth. That would have to wait until morning. Everything could wait until morning.

Shit! Tomorrow he and Brennan were meeting a Japanese reporter to discuss her latest book. That was all he needed. Some busybody reporter asking him how he felt about being cast as Andy in her books. But, honestly, if the woman was worth her salt, she'd zero in on all those juicy sex scenes between the two protagonists...hell, those were some of his favourite parts of Brennan's books. The science and the crime-solving were great, brilliant in fact, but he felt that in those few pages where romance, passion and maybe love intruded, Brennan showed a whole different side of herself. He doubted that she was aware that she revealed her own desires and her own insecurities in those few pages, but those were the ones he searched for each time she presented him with a copy of her newest novel. He'd skim whole chapters of her book to find one of _'those'_ scenes. And then, once he was done, he'd flip back to the start of the book and read the novel from start to finish in one sitting, maybe two.

His last thought before sleep finally knocked him unconscious was that maybe the reporter would quiz Brennan about page 187 of her novel. Since reading it, he'd been going crazy wondering if she had actually pictured him doing those things to her. When she typed the words, imagined the mechanics of that scene, was it him that she pictured? He could only hope.

* * *

_**AN: This chapter was a little tricky to write. Ostensibly because of what's coming up (or what's 'spoilered' to be coming up) in the next episode. I didn't want to jump one way or the other in terms of what Booth and Brennan may be feeling because my story very much depends on what happens in the 100**__**th**__** episode and in the 6 episodes to follow. That's not to say that my story won't deviate from the show, it has and it will...just that in terms of the big emotional moments, I'm taking my cue from what happens on screen. I'll second guess and add my own interpretation when it comes to writing my story, but essentially, I'm sticking to the path the writers have set out. Of course, when the finale comes round, if I don't like what they've come up with, I may just 'deviate' BIG TIME. **_

_**So, if you think that Booth and Brennan should just get together already...that Booth should maybe 'man up' and tell her that he loves her...blame the writers. I'm just hanging on their coattails!**_

_**If you have the time and/or the inclination, let me know what you think. I really appreciate reviews; they are so great for letting me know if my rendering of the characters still rings true, if the story is still interesting...and so on.**_


	16. A Dream Within A Dream

_**AN: Now, as much as "The Parts in the Sum of the Whole" made me want to take up baking just so I could present HH and the Bones cast and crew with a homemade cake to show them just how much I adored the episode, it kinda threw me for a loop where this story is concerned. Booth told her how he felt...he did it, and I'm still a little shocked by that some 3 days later. I'd always intended that he would, but they beat me to it. Damn HH and his testicles of steel. :) **_

_**So where do we go from here? My theory is that no way Booth moves on just like that. He's spent so long loving her, that changing his focus, his feelings will take time. Even if someone else shows an interest in him, (and really, what sane straight woman wouldn't) his heart is very much still Brennan's, even though she's too scared to claim it yet. **_

_**So, without further ado, I present the next instalment. It's not a fluffy one, people. Well, maybe it is...sorta. Gads! I don't think I've been so nervous to post a chapter of this story before. **_

_**Hope you like it. I would, as always, be interested to know your thoughts.**_

_**Disclaimer: I still don't own them...more's the pity.**_

* * *

_**A Dream Within A Dream - Edgar Allan Poe **_

_Take this kiss upon the brow!  
And, in parting from you now,  
Thus much let me avow--  
You are not wrong, who deem  
That my days have been a dream;  
Yet if hope has flown away  
In a night, or in a day,  
In a vision, or in none,  
Is it therefore the less gone?  
All that we see or seem  
Is but a dream within a dream._

_I stand amid the roar  
Of a surf-tormented shore,  
And I hold within my hand  
Grains of the golden sand--  
How few! yet how they creep  
Through my fingers to the deep,  
While I weep--while I weep!  
O God! can I not grasp  
Them with a tighter clasp?  
O God! can I not save  
One from the pitiless wave?  
Is all that we see or seem  
But a dream within a dream?_

* * *

"We're not in love with each other."

It was at that point, that very moment that the penny should have dropped. Sure, it hit him hard. Her assertion knocked the wind out of him, but it didn't shake him to his core. He was used to her stark denials – hell; he'd invented enough of his own over the years. And so he ploughed on with their story, smiled along with her when recounting the good bits, and then grew as uncomfortable as she did when they had explained to Sweets how the bad bits had taken their toll. If he was entirely honest with himself, he wasn't sure either of them had fully recovered from that fight in his office all those years ago. With hindsight, he had wanted to apologise to her so many times for what he had said about her father and he knew that she would always regret slapping him. But they'd never discussed it. It was just one of a long list of conversations that they had silently agreed would never happen.

Booth opened the door to his apartment and carefully closed it behind him. He shrugged off his coat and hung it on the coat rack just inside the door, making sure to straighten out the arms and smooth down the upturned collar. He walked through to the kitchen and opened the cabinet door next to the refrigerator, removing a shot glass; he then opened the green retro-design refrigerator and reached for the bottle of vodka resting in the vegetable crisper. He took his time pouring the chilled colourless liquid into the glass, until he had poured an exact measure. He drank the alcohol down in a single, greedy gulp. He refilled the glass and drank another shot. He drank another. And then another.

Placing the shot glass down on the black worktop, he walked purposefully to the bedroom and removed his suit jacket and tie. He hung his jacket in the closet, again making sure that the material wasn't crumpled or folded in on itself. He placed his tie on the back of the armchair next to the bed. Unbuttoning his collar, he walked through to the bathroom and set the shower running. He slipped off his pants, folded them at the leg seam and wandered back into the bedroom and hung them in place next to the matching jacket. He undid the rest of the buttons on his shirt and slid off the white, still slightly starched material and placed it in the dirty laundry hamper. His socks followed and then his boxers.

Booth strolled naked back into the now steam-filled bathroom and stepped into the shower cubicle. He stood directly under the gushing water and cast his head forward so that the water pummelled the back of his neck and the tops of his shoulders. He breathed in and out, steadily and with precise concentration. He turned the water temperature up until the water droplets burned and sensitised his skin. Then he turned the temperature up one turn more. He breathed. He waited. He breathed again.

Then he just couldn't stop.

He struck the white tiled shower wall with so much force that he believed he felt the bones in his clenched hand shrink back in self defence. He hit the wall again. The third strike split the skin across his knuckles. The fourth ensured that he would need medical attention. The fifth sent him to his knees as the dam broke.

* * *

He didn't need his alarm to wake him, he hadn't slept. He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed and climbed to his feet. His whole right arm was hurting, and somewhere deep inside the muscles in his back something didn't feel right. He walked slowly to the bathroom and opened the mirrored cabinet over the sink so that he stared only at the stainless steel back and shelves – he had no desire to look at himself. He already knew what he would see. He used his left hand to run some cold water into the sink and tried to wet and then wring out a facecloth so that he could rub his face awake. It was no easy matter using only one hand. In the end, he gave up and rubbed his tired gluey eyes with the rough edge of the white partially damp cloth and then splashed water over his face and neck.

He got dressed. He left his apartment. He went to work.

He did the same the next day...and the day after that.

He didn't call her. She didn't call him.

* * *

It was closing in on 6 p.m. when Charlie leant round the doorframe, and informed him that Assistant Director Hacker wanted to see him. Booth got to his feet, locked down his computer and headed to the elevator. Two digits later he reached the 'Suits floor'. He didn't rush to Hacker's office, nor did he purposely take his time. He'd get there when he got there.

His boss was just on his way out but wanted to ask him if he could attend a high-level meeting the next day with the Director himself and some assorted brass from the White House. Apparently, some very influential people were picking up an unpalatable amount political flack for the lack of progress in the Jackrabbit investigation. Booth supposed he should be flattered, but he had the distinct sense that he was there to make up the numbers, or maybe to play the role of fall guy. He didn't care either way.

"The meeting is scheduled for 4 p.m. – we'll travel together. Director Cullen will meet us there; he has an earlier meeting with the Homeland Security Secretary."

"I'll be waiting for you in my office from 3:30 p.m."

"Great. Ah, Booth, before you go...I've been meaning to drop by the Jeffersonian...tell me, how is Dr. Brennan?"

"Fine, I guess."

"I really should drop by and see her."

"Yeah. You should."

"Really? Did she say something to you?"

"Sir?"

"Did Temperance say something to you about me, about us?"

"No."

Booth clenched his one good fist to the side of his thigh and tried to keep his temper under control. He struggled with his utter disbelief that this goon was gearing up to make another move on his partner, on the woman HE loved. And she'd let him. She'd happily date the man, sleep with him probably. For the first time he could remember he felt such anger towards her that he worried it bordered on hate.

"Sure...why would she. Well, I have somewhere to be...so 4 p.m. tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah." He walked with Hacker to the elevator and travelled down to the lobby instead of getting off at his floor. He'd go back to work, but right now he needed some air.

"I...I was thinking. Man, I'm really out of practice where romance is concerned. Booth, do you know if Temperance likes flowers? Maybe you know if she favours one type over another?"

_Fuck you! Fuck you! _

"Sir, we don't exactly get around to discussing flowers. We mostly talk about bones and death, you know." _She loves Daffodils. Daffodils... Daffodils...._

"Of course. Of course you do...sorry. Forget I asked."

"Okay."

"Right, this is me."

The Assistant Director slowed to a stop outside the entrance to a French restaurant that Booth knew to be ridiculously exclusive and thus, expensive. Brennan had told him about it and he had jokingly asked why, if she was the genius she purported herself to be, would she pay through the nose for a stick of asparagus that she could buy for a fraction of the price at the local supermarket. How could their asparagus be so much better? What did they steam it in, golden saucepans? She had gone on to lecture him about the ambience, the superlative cooking, and he had sat across from her and fallen deeper and deeper. _Fuck you, Seeley – you're a first class idiot!_

Hacker turned his back on him and opened the pink frosted-glass door to the restaurant. Booth took a step, before he turned round to ask.

"I forgot to ask you...how's your book coming?"

"My book?" Hacker turned around quickly and in Booth's opinion did a piss-poor job of hiding his surprise.

"Yeah. Bones told me all about it. It sounds real interesting."

"Well...I wouldn't say that. Temperance told you? Um, it's in the early stages...it's barely more than an idea right now."

"Okay." Booth picked up on the other man's anger and he almost laughed. For a fleeting moment, he felt better. Mean, childish, but better. Sweets would have a field day with that kind of information. Sweets could go to hell.

Hacker disappeared behind the ostentatious pink door and Booth picked up the pace and did a circle of the block before heading back inside the Hoover Building.

* * *

It was Friday night and he was maybe a quarter of the way through writing yet another progress report on the Jackrabbit case. The clock was forgotten – once it had clicked past eleven p.m., Booth had given up looking at it. He knew he'd need to pull an all-nighter to catch up on all the work that had piled up. Concentrating had not been easy that week. In fact, he had spent most of his time sitting in his office chair staring at words on a page that didn't make any sense. Report after report came and went from his desk. Agents sought his approval on their findings, on their reports and wanted his signature time after time – he signed off on everything without reading a word. He truly did have faith in his team but he knew there would be mistakes, errors in interpretation and oversights. He was skilled at seeing what wasn't there. He could look over a report and pick it apart within minutes. He could assess its veracity and its worth before the author's ink had dried on the page. But he knew if asked, he wouldn't be able to recount a single word of any of the reports that had been generated that week.

He was in freefall. He knew that. And he didn't want it to stop.

When he finally made it home, the promise of sunrise was threatening on the horizon and he was beyond exhausted. He turned his key in the lock and used the sole of his shoe to push open his apartment door as he supported two cardboard boxes and a bag of take-out. He dumped the boxes which contained old case files documenting accounts of other murders or assaults which might indicate a link to this more recent spate of killings. He doubted he'd find anything of note - junior agents had after all spent the best part of two weeks scouring the case files, but he'd committed himself to double-checking. That commitment was made before everything had gone to hell but he'd picked up the boxes anyway, if only to clear some space in his cluttered office.

He sat down on the sofa and flicked on the TV. He picked at the duck-fried rice and ate a couple of pancake rolls but his heart wasn't in it. The weight he'd managed to gain over the past month since returning from his trip to Maryland would fall away again. He washed down the slightly greasy rice with a beer, followed by a few healthy swigs of vodka straight from the bottle. He took off his unremarkable black tie and loosened the buttons of his collar. He stretched out fully on the sofa and turned onto his side. A re-run of an earlier hockey game played out on screen and he watched the players dart and spin on the ice without really seeing anything. He had never felt so numb, so disconnected. He was raw and out of control. He was spiralling.

He closed his eyes and thankfully fell straight to sleep.

_- - -_

_She was transparent. Her face was as clear as glass and her long hair fell in individual diamonds before settling on her shoulders and falling no further. _

_Her hands were cold. He continued to hold onto her, he tried rubbing her hands but his fingers smoothed over the solid glass and he knew it was no use. Like last time, he fell to his knees before her. Her lab coat sparkled so brightly that he could barely keep his eyes on her. But he had to. He had to know. He had to help her._

"_Is it like all the others?" He gasped, his voice ragged._

"_It's not your fault. I don't blame you." She replied as she slowly opened her coat and showed him the red. He touched her stomach. The perfectly formed hard circle of blood was hot to the touch and as soon as he pulled his hand away in fright, large drops began to fall at their feet. He screamed. He screamed while she stood stock still and looked right through him._

_His hands were covered in the warm blood and it had pooled in almost black puddles around his shoes. He rocked forward onto all fours and cried out that he was sorry over and over again._

_She touched his hair. She told him that she had to go. _

"_I'm that guy. I'm that guy. I knew from the beginning. I knew!"_

_- - -_

Booth woke up mid-yell. He was shaking uncontrollably and the tears that had started to fall in his dream continued into his reality. He lay there shaking and crying until sleep mercifully claimed him again.

* * *

He had Parker on Saturday and they had taken advantage of the good weather and spent the day at the local park. They had tossed a football about; Booth forced to use his less favoured hand as the other was still bandaged and sore, and then they had fed the ducks before walking back to Rebecca's apartment. As he bent down low to hug Parker goodbye, he held on tight and told his son that he loved him. Parker kissed him on the cheek. "I love you too, Daddy." It was like a bomb exploded in his chest. He felt tears spring to his eyes. He looked at the little boy who was everything to him and he knew. He just _knew_.

By the time he'd made it back out onto the street, he had made a decision. Love was worth it. Everything around it was worth it. He had told her that once and now he would prove it to her.

He opted for pizza on the way home and called into Gino's, his favourite restaurant, in the hope that the tried and tested pepperoni with onion would entice his taste buds. He needed to refuel. His body needed food. Even messing about with Parker had brought on a dizzy spell and despite the fact that eating was the last thing on his mind; he knew that his body had issued him a warning.

As he walked the busy streets, weaving in out of people on his journey back to his apartment, he wondered what she was doing at that moment - working probably. His second guess would be reading. He pictured her curled up on the brightly coloured armchair in her living room, sipping a glass of red wine as she turned the pages of some esoteric text. God, he missed her. He really fucking missed her. His hospitalisation last year and vacations aside, this was the longest time they had spent without seeing each other. Did she miss him? He believed that she did. He had to.

He knew she would be scared about how they were going to carry on after the things that they had said. She had probably dissected and put together again countless times the words that had tumbled painfully from their lips, from their hearts. She would always reach the same conclusion. He would always end up losing. She believed she couldn't change; that she wasn't capable of loving him and he would always believe that she possessed the capacity to change, the capacity to love him. Her conclusion would only be different if she only let go of the fear.

Booth couldn't identify the source of that fear; he guessed some of it stemmed from her belief that she might be abandoned again if she opened herself up to another person's love, maybe she was worried that he would fall out of love with her? He'd analysed these same questions over and over in his mind and he knew that there was the very real possibility that he would never uncover the answer. But this wouldn't deter him.

What he had quickly realised since dropping her off at her apartment that night was that he could only control his own actions. He could look for love in easier places. He could go through the motions of moving on - hell, maybe someone would come along that would surprise him - but he would never let her go. He was that guy. He knew. He knew before his brain tumour – Sweets could shove his scans where the sun didn't shine. He knew his own mind, he knew his own heart. He loved her. He knew from the beginning.

He reached his apartment building and he took the stairs two at a time until he reached his floor. He set the pizza box down on the countertop and reached inside the refrigerator for the quarter-full bottle of vodka. He tossed it into the garbage and opened a can of coke and drank thirstily before starting in on the lukewarm pizza. He ate the entire meal.

Later that night, as he lay in bed listening to the hum of traffic outside his apartment window, he decided that first thing Monday morning he would call in on her at the Jeffersonian. He would maybe joke a little, put her at her ease. He would make a change. The change she believed she wanted him to make. She would watch him move on. But he would know better.

He knew where Brennan was concerned he couldn't change, he couldn't move on – there was no reset button. He would fight. He would fight until he had nothing left. Loving her was all he wanted to do. Loving her was worth the risk, despite the odds.

After all, he was the gambler.

* * *

_**AN: So here's my thinking: Booth is a gambler and gamblers have to hit rock bottom before starting the climb back up. It's a simplistic assessment, I know. And most likely I'm not doing any justice to the complex psychological factors involved, but, hey, I'm not that smart. **_

_**Booth will gamble until he wins or until he no longer wants to win...make of that what you will. :)**_

_**Would love, love, love to know what you think. He's a gambler, right? He won't walk away, not really. Answers on a postcard....**_


	17. Platonic

_**AN: Life in the form of work and studying got in the way of my posting an update or two over these past couple of weeks – sorry for the delay. This lengthy chapter catches us up on the last three episodes, and now we're back on track.**  
_

_**Before we get on with it, I just wanted to say that the reviews you kindly gave me for the last chapter have pushed my review count to 101! I am truly staggered by this. You can't see me, obviously, but my mouth is hanging open in disbelief. And yes, it's not pretty. I never expected to receive such support and hopefully I've thanked you all personally for reviewing, but I want to say it again. I want to really put it out there: THANK YOU!!!**_

_**Disclaimer: Not mine. Not ever.**_

_**

* * *

**_

**_Platonic – __Ella Wheeler Wilcox_**

_I knew it the first of the summer,  
I knew it the same at the end,  
That you and your love were plighted,  
But couldn't you be my friend?  
Couldn't we sit in the twilight,  
Couldn't we walk on the shore  
With only a pleasant friendship  
To bind us, and nothing more?_

_There was not a word of folly  
Spoken between us two,  
Though we lingered oft in the garden  
Till the roses were wet with dew.  
We touched on a thousand subjects—  
The moon and the worlds above,—  
And our talk was tinctured with science,  
And everything else, save love._

_A wholly Platonic friendship  
You said I had proven to you  
Could bind a man and a woman  
The whole long season through,  
With never a thought of flirting,  
Though both were in their youth  
What would you have said, my lady,  
If you had known the truth!_

_What would you have done, I wonder,  
Had I gone on my knees to you  
And told you my passionate story,  
There in the dusk and the dew?  
My burning, burdensome story,  
Hidden and hushed so long—  
My story of hopeless loving—  
Say, would you have thought it wrong?_

_But I fought with my heart and conquered,  
I hid my wound from sight;  
You were going away in the morning,  
And I said a calm good-night.  
But now when I sit in the twilight,  
Or when I walk by the sea  
That friendship, quite Platonic,  
Comes surging over me._

_And a passionate longing fills me  
For the roses, the dusk, the dew;  
For the beautiful summer vanished,  
For the moonlight walks—and you._

* * *

Booth opened the door to his apartment and reached for the light switch to the right of the doorframe. He pushed the switch up and then down, but nothing happened. He cursed under his breath and took a few hesitant steps forward into his pitch black apartment. Ever since the subway flooded, the power in his neighbourhood had been working intermittently. He knew that people were working on the problem but surely they'd had time enough to sort it out. He knocked his shin against a shoe rack, this time his cursing sounding out loud and clear. Then, as he walked through to the living room, he smacked his knee, against what he guessed was the edge of the sofa. As he neared his bedroom, the door was ajar and the light from the street below shone through the large window. He relaxed; grateful for once that he lived on a busy street that had streetlamps running down both sides, so that at night it lit up like an airport runway.

As he sat down on the edge of his bed wearing only his boxers, he touched the sensitive area above his right knee – it was sure to leave a mark. His bruises were Hodgins's fault. When everyone else left the Founding Fathers that evening, he urged Booth to stay on. Not that he needed much persuading. The thought of going home to his empty apartment didn't appeal all that much. The situation was made worse by the fact that he'd spent the past two days with Brennan solving murders and playing at being husband and wife. Going back to reality was not something he was ready to do just yet.

And so he stayed. And so they drank. He stuck to beer at first but then Hodgins announced that he had a "great idea" and suggested they take a trip through the optics, and he was stupid enough to agree to the challenge.

Earlier that night:

Three drinks in and Booth knew that he'd made a big mistake. There was no way he could keep up with Hodgins. It wasn't that he couldn't handle his booze, far from it – no, he was struggling because all the drinks he'd had so far were just plain disgusting. There was a good reason why beer was available on tap and the crap he'd just knocked back sat in bottles for ages. So it was with trepidation that he raised the shot glass to his lips. The milky lime green coloured contents doing nothing to alleviate his concern that he wasn't going to like the taste. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hodgins throw back the drink and so he did the same. He instantly regretted it. It tasted of mouthwash mixed with chocolate milk and it made him gag.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing."

"Come on, spill it." Booth said wondering how long it would be before he could no longer taste the foul mixture.

"It's just that I've seen you in hospital...you know after you got blown up? You had tubes stuck in you and stuff and yet, you didn't look half as bad as you do now."

"Glad I could amuse you." Booth groused as he pushed the glass away and set his sights on the next drink in line. "Oh God, what's that stuff?" He said spying the squat looking bottle hanging upside down above the bar. The bottle was split unevenly into a black liquid and a creamy white liquid.

"Um...I have absolutely no idea. You know, if you want to call it a day, that's cool. Your tough guy image will be shot to shreds...sure, but hey; I won't tell anyone."

"No. You'll tell _everyone_. Order it up, bug man." Booth shot back at him with a determined nod of his head.

The drinks ordered, both men picked up their glasses and drank the liquid down in a single gulp.

"All I taste is cold coffee." Booth said placing his glass on the bar.

"Me too. Now, what's next?"

They agreed that the next drink which tasted of sour cherries soaked in vodka was a winner, even if they did feel faintly ridiculous drinking it from tiny glasses that Booth maintained were specially made for female hands. The menthol-tasting concoction that followed met with less fervent approval but they both appreciated the twelve year old single malt which came after that.

"We're halfway there, man." Hodgins said grinning from ear to ear and Booth wondered not for the first time if the scientist was enthusiastic about everything he did. No matter what, the guy was pure energy, pure commitment. Sure, he was a conspiracy nut and paranoid beyond what some would call "normal", but everything he did, he did enthusiastically. Apparently this was to be no exception.

Booth watched out of the corner of his eye as Hodgins took his iPhone out of his pocket and quickly looked at the screen before shoving it back where it came from. Still, something was off with the guy. He couldn't help but notice that in amongst the honest enthusiasm, there was an undercurrent of distraction, of tension. He knew he should just ask Hodgins straight out what was bothering him, but they didn't have that kind of relationship. They respected each other, considered the other a friend, but they didn't talk about their feelings. Nope. They didn't do that. Now if Cam or Angela were there, they would ask him without hesitation if he was okay, if something was upsetting him. Sweets would be the same way. Damn, where was Sweets when you needed him? Booth thought about it for a couple of seconds more before opting to go with his perennial favourite – the glib approach.

"So, are you celebrating or numbing the pain?"

"Maybe a little of both." Hodgins said before knocking back his next drink. "What about you?"

"Same, I guess." Booth replied and cleared his throat. He was faintly aware that he had crossed his arms over his chest and had adopted a pose which clearly said "don't ask me another thing."

"I'm sensing you don't want to talk about it."

"I don't. But hey...if you wanna talk about Angela, go right on ahead."

"Who said it has anything to do with Angela?"

"It doesn't?" Booth half smiled and set his empty glass down on the bar.

"Okay, so it has _everything_ to do with Angela." Hodgins said rubbing his hands quickly over his cheeks a couple of times before slumping down against the polished wooden bar, his face resting against his forearm. "She and Wendell broke up."

"And you want another crack at making it work with her?"

"Maybe. I don't know. It's complicated between us and..."

"Hodgins...come on."

"Okay...yes! Yes, I want to try again. Why wouldn't I? She's amazing."

"Yes she is. So what's stopping you?"

"History. History is what's stopping me." Hodgins said sitting up straight again.

"So you weren't right for each other last time round, that doesn't mean that it won't work now. Things change; people change...maybe this time things will be different."

"You know the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results."

"I heard."

"So I should take a lesson, right? Einstein knew what he was talking about."

"About theoretical physics, sure, but I'm not sure I'd apply his genius to love. I mean what makes him such an authority. The man divorced his wife to marry his first cousin. It's kinda hinky if you ask me. Look, Hodgins, love is something you do with your heart, not your head. Come on, you get it, right?"

"I just...I don't want to mess it up this time. I'm not sure we'll survive another break-up, another lost opportunity."

"So you're scared...that's good. That means what you have is worth it."

"And it _is _worth it, Booth. God, she's worth it."

"So you know what you have to do then?" Booth said trying to catch the barman's eye.

"Yeah. I do. Thanks, Booth."

"I didn't do anything."

"You get it, man. You get where I'm coming from. Some things are too important to keep putting off out of fear. Ultimately, despite our fears, we have to be true to our feelings. We have to put them out there and risk being crushed because love is worth it. The risk is worth it. Angela might say no. She might tell me that she doesn't love me anymore, but I have to know. I have to take that chance."

"Okay then." Booth said hoping to put an end to the conversation before the other man decided that they needed to 'hug it out'. It wouldn't be the first time. They should have stuck to discussing sports, it was much easier. Besides, Hodgins' words were hitting a little too close to home for comfort. He didn't want to be reminded of what he had risked the other night after their meeting with Sweets. Why the hell would he want to be reminded of how she had pushed him away and told him that she didn't possess the kind of heart that could love him, when all he wanted to do since that night was forget the pain?

Their tour of the optics petered out five drinks short of the end. Booth was relieved when the other man called time by banging his fist on the bar and conceding defeat. His stomach was making all kinds of ominous noises and the minty chocolate drink that he'd knocked back earlier kept repeating on him. He honestly couldn't say if he would have managed the last five drinks or not.

He helped Hodgins off his bar stool and they made their way out into the chilly evening air. Winter had come and gone but the clear night ensured that the temperature stayed on the cool side. Booth kept a wary eye on the entomologist as they walked down the street to the intersection. Every so often the other man would clutch at his stomach and make a low groaning noise that he recognised all too well. Booth whistled as a taxi approached them on the wrong side of the street. The driver hit the brake and crossed lanes, stopping directly in front of them. He instinctively wanted to draw to the driver's attention the obvious traffic violation, but he suppressed the urge and held the rear passenger door open while Hodgins clambered inside.

"Hey, you're "King of the Bar"!" The scientist said as he struggled with his seat belt. Booth leant inside the car and yanked on the strap so that the Hodgins could connect the two ends. "You got enough to cover the cab fare?" He asked before realising who he was talking to. He returned Hodgins' easy smile and then ducked back out of the car, closing the door firmly in place. He watched the car turn at the end of the street before it disappeared.

Booth then crossed the street and began to walk in the direction of his apartment building. He didn't intend to walk the whole way home but the fresh air was doing him good and honestly, he wasn't sure if he'd manage to keep that minty chocolate drink down if he got into the backseat of a car at that moment.

As he walked, he thought about Hodgins and Angela and wondered if they really would get it right this time. Angela was going to be the harder sell, for sure. Weren't all women? Or maybe he and Hodgins just knew how to pick 'em. Anyone could see that Hodgins was crazy about her; their time apart seemingly had done nothing to diminish his affection for her, but Booth wasn't sure where Angela stood in all this. She was almost as difficult to read as her best friend.

Four blocks later his stomach felt sufficiently stable and so he flagged down a cab. He got out a few hundred metres from his apartment and ducked inside a 24-hr grocery store to pick up a couple of cans of Canada Dry and a bottle of Pepto Bismol. As he left the store he cursed Hodgins and his "great idea".

He had been home for half an hour. The last fifteen minutes of which he'd spent sat on the edge of his bed just...thinking. He couldn't stop thinking about that slow dance. She had wanted to dance with him; she had closed the space between them. She had done that, needed that. He had tried his best to maintain the distance, but in the end he couldn't keep away. She had drawn him to her despite his every effort to remain fixed in place. So she wanted to dance with him...it didn't mean anything, right? Maybe she just wanted to make things right between them again. Maybe she wanted to take away the hurt that he was sure manifested in his every word, his every look. That could all be true but it wasn't the whole story. He knew it.

He remembered how she had almost fallen apart at the sight of the silver stars descending from the ceiling of the gym. Her eyes were full of unshed tears and she had instinctively reached out to him before stopping, suddenly reminded of the distance that he had created between them. She looked lost without him to hold onto. And he couldn't bear it. He just couldn't bear it. And so he saved her, even though it cost him dear to do so.

Booth lay back on the bed and stared at the uninteresting white ceiling and did his best to control the hope that pulsed through him. But it hummed in his chest and ran through his veins all the same. She had _needed_ that closeness. She _needed_ to hold him. He placed one hand over his bare stomach, the other rested at his side. Her wanting to dance with him wasn't about making him feel better. He was sure of that now. He wondered briefly if this realisation ought to make him mad – after all, had she given any thought to how that slow dance might mess with his head? Booth smiled a small smile...of course she didn't know. She had no idea. He wasn't hurt by this conclusion. If anything, it made her actions all the more honest and transparent. She needed him and she had reached for him. She was operating on instinct and that was the very best he could hope for. Her instinctual reactions toward him would offer an insight into the secrets she hid from him and from herself.

He would become a master at reading her signals, her 'tells'. He would concentrate on what she didn't say in addition to the actual words that slipped from her mouth. Like the other night, outside Sweets' office...she hadn't said that she _didn't _love him. She gave away that she knew all along that he was trying to protect her by not confessing his feelings. Booth closed his eyes; was it possible that she had told him all he needed to know by saying nothing at all?

* * *

Hoover Building – Three Weeks Later:

Booth walked purposefully down the carpeted corridor that ran from outside his office to the communal kitchen. He needed coffee. He knew Sweets had advised him to steer clear of caffeine, but damn it, that was impossible. He'd tried the decaffeinated stuff but it tasted like crap and so in deference to the young psychologist's expertise he'd restricted himself to only four mugs a day. That was a compromise, right? Besides, he'd been working for 30 hours straight and would likely put in another six or so hours before he left to go home. He reached for the coffee pot and poured the brown liquid into his "Flyers" mug and then swirled in a shot of milk. He tore open four packets of sugar and added it to the mix. He was tossing away the empty packets when O'Hanlon walked by. The young agent stopped, turned on his heel and walked back to join him.

"Hey, boss, Rios just called in - the lead checked out. They just made it to the house."

"Is Nightingale home?"

"Doesn't appear to be, so they're gonna sit it out."

"Okay. Keep me updated, okay?"

"Will do."

Earlier that day, they had caught a break in the Jackrabbit case and four members of his team were at that moment chasing down a lead in Columbia Heights. Booth was therefore on edge, nervy, and more than keen to join the surveillance unit. It wasn't that he didn't trust them to do a first rate job, he knew they would, but he couldn't help wanting to be there in case something unexpected went down. As for Nightingale: he was white, four months short of his 30th birthday and worked as a self-employed plumber. He was a native of D.C. and was recently married. He hadn't shown up on their radar because apart from racking up some unpaid speeding tickets, he was nothing out of the ordinary. What made him less ordinary, what set him apart, was the fact that he was the registered owner of a white '93 Ford Sherrod Van. A vehicle matching that description was reported to be in the vicinity of Meridian Hill Park the previous evening, around the same time that Kate Greggan, 18, and also of Colombia Heights, was abducted on her way home from work. She had cut across a section of the park, trying to save some time because she was late home for her sister's 12th birthday party, when she was struck from behind and loaded into a vehicle. Kate had remembered that much, nothing else. Approximately four hours later at a little after 11:00 p.m. she was seen by Rosie Sanchez staggering down 15th Street. Mrs Sanchez reported that the young woman seemed dazed, drugged maybe, and had been badly beaten. She had approached Kate and asked her name. She received no response. She asked again and then a third time. She had told Booth, when questioned in the early hours of the following morning that Kate had then fallen to the ground. "She didn't even put her hands out to stop her fall...she...she smashed her cheek and nose against the sidewalk. There was so much blood."

Kate was rushed to Howard University Hospital's emergency department and shortly after being admitted; a member of the medical team, who had carried out a cursory exam of the young woman, contacted the FBI. Booth had been about to leave for the night when the call was patched through. He spoke briefly with Dr. Joffe who informed him that his patient had suffered serious abdominal injuries, she had been raped, beaten and was lucky to be alive.

"She's conscious, but understandably, she's not making much sense at the moment. She's under the influence of a narcotic – I can't say for sure what yet, but it's likely Flunitrazepam."

"Rohypnol. Booth confirmed as he fixed the receiver between his face and shoulder and grabbed his suit jacket off the back of his chair.

"Yes. Look, there may not be a connection but our orders are to call the FBI if we encounter patients presenting with abdominal injuries, likely as a result of violent trauma. This girl fits the profile. She's in a mess."

"Do you know if anyone came in with her?"

"A woman. She's in the waiting room."

"Do you know her name?"

"She didn't have ID on her."

"No...not the girl, the woman in your waiting room."

"Sorry, of course. No. I don't know her name. We've asked her to stay put though...said that the police would want to speak to her. I don't think she'll bolt. I'm sorry, Agent Booth, but I have to get back."

Booth thanked Dr. Joffe and told him that he was on his way over. He dialled Charlie's cell as he raced towards the elevators. The other agent picked up on the second ring.

"We may have something. I'm headed over to "Howard" now."

"The vic's alive?"

"Yeah. She's alive. Look, can you call Hacker for me; I need to get on the road?"

"Sure. Call me when you know something."

Booth snapped his cell shut and stepped into the elevator. The doors slid closed and he forced himself to remain still. This could be the break they had been waiting for. This could be it. He ran his hand over the back of his neck and tried without success to loosen some of the tension he held there. By the time he made it to his SUV and was driving at speed towards Georgia Avenue, the tension in his neck had spread to his shoulders and upper back.

He located his witness, Rosie Sanchez, shortly after arriving at the hospital. The middle-aged woman was struggling to hold it together. When she recounted how the girl had collapsed to the ground and hit her face, she was visibly shaking and had to fight to hold back tears. Booth appreciated her effort to remain in control of her emotions and the fact that she was confining her answers to plain facts - he needed information, not personal reflections. Once he'd finished his initial round of questions, he entrusted Mrs Sanchez into the care of Agents' Rios and O'Hanlon. Booth then went in search of Dr. Joffe.

He waited patiently in the Doctor's office until, at shortly before 2 a.m., Simon Joffe walked into the room and took a seat at his desk. The tall, slim dark haired man looked utterly exhausted and Booth wondered how long he had been on shift.

"Okay. So she's stable. And she's talking, but I'm not sure how much she'll be able to tell you about the attack and her attacker. The Rohypnol the bastard gave her knocked her out pretty good. To be honest though, this may have been a blessing...considering what she's been through."

"What's her name?"

"Kate Greggan. She's 18 years old and lives at home with her parents and her younger sister on 14th Street, Columbia Heights. I've notified her family – they're on their way over now."

"What are her injuries?" Booth reached inside his jacket and took out his notepad.

"I'll start with the worst of them: she has a fractured pelvis, and severe lacerations of the upper vagina. She also has a broken wrist, two broken fingers and general body trauma associated with being hit or kicked. She also suffered a broken nose as a result of falling over after the assault occurred."

"That fucking asshole..."

"I concur, Agent Booth."

"Did you carry out a rape exam, Doctor?"

"Yes. We've also taken photographs – we'll take more tomorrow afternoon as the bruising becomes more apparent. We've given her a shot of Ceftiaxone and the first of a series of doses of Metronidazole to treat any infections. We'll have to wait to see if she tests positive for HIV."

"Can I see her?"

"Yes. But as I say, I'm not sure what she'll be able to tell you."

Booth took a deep breath before following Dr. Joffe into Kate Greggan's room. He forced his face to remain relaxed, his expression neutral. He didn't smile. The young blonde haired woman lying in the bed at the far end of the room turned to look at them. She flicked her gaze from one man to the other but said nothing. Dr. Joffe introduced Booth and informed her that she didn't have to say anything right then unless she felt up to it. She continued to stare at them. Booth hated his job at that moment. He wanted to walk away and leave the poor kid in peace, but he took a couple more steps towards the bed. He tried not to show his horror at seeing her up close. Her face was a mess of bruises and her right eye was mostly closed up due to swelling. He'd seen enough beaten women in his time to know that the patchy bruising under the eye and above the arch of her eyebrow was the result of a punch by a large fist. He swallowed and took in her bandaged fingers and wrist before looking away again. He just needed a moment, just one moment.

"Hi, Kate. I'm sorry to have to do this now, but I wondered if you could maybe tell me anything that we'll help us catch whoever did this to you?"

"I don't remember anything. Just...just that someone hit me on the back of my head and dragged me into a car."

"Okay, that's something. That's helpful. Kate, do you remember anything about the vehicle you were put into? I mean, do you know if it was a car, or a jeep...or maybe something bigger than that?"

She shook her head slowly and Booth cursed silently as she caught her breath following the slight movement – he knew it had caused her pain." Yeah, he really hated his job right now.

"What about the colour of the car?"

"I don't remember. I'm sorry...I'm not being very helpful, am I?"

"Hey, you're being very helpful. Don't apologise to me, okay?" His forced down the painful lump in his throat as she began to cry. Silent tears streamed down her bruised cheeks and he just didn't know what to do. He'd made her cry. He did that. The poor kid had been abused in the worse way and now here he was questioning her, encroaching on her personal space just hours after the fact. He wanted to apologise again but the words wouldn't come. He just stared at her as she tried to swipe away her tears with her bandaged hand. Finally, he found his voice again.

"I'm sorry, Kate. We'll leave it there. You just rest now." She continued to cry. She didn't look at him again. As he backed out of the room, he nodded a goodbye to Dr. Joffe – the other man nodded back and gave him a look that was a mixture of anger and sympathy.

From the hospital, Booth headed over to the Hoover Building and caught up with Charlie, who had hauled ass back into work. He updated the agent as to Kate Greggan's condition and about the fact that she remembered almost nothing about the attack. He pre-empted Charlie's next question: "It could be our guy. She sustained a fractured pelvis, that matches the sicko's MO."

"I don't understand how she got away though. Or, if that's not what went down, why he let her go."

"That's what's bothering me too, Charlie. Our guy hasn't made many mistakes so far, and certainly none that have been really helpful to us. Now this?"

Before the other man had a chance to respond, Agent Rios rounded the corner and almost collided with them both. "We've just taken a call from this guy who was walking his dogs in the park at around the time Kate Greggan was abducted. The caller said that he saw a white van circling the area near to where she was snatched."

"Christ, didn't he give us more to go on than that?" Charlie said hotly, and Booth remembered that he wasn't the only one getting strung out over the murders. The case was taking its toll on everyone.

"He gave us make and model." Rios added.

"How did he know we were on the lookout for information?" Booth asked as he motioned for them to step inside his office.

"He's a writer...he says he was up late working on his book and he heard on the radio that a woman had been attacked in the Colombia Heights area. He remembered the van, remembered that he had seen it in the area at the time the girl was taken. He called the local police. They put him onto us."

"Did he get a look at the driver of the vehicle?" Charlie quizzed.

"No. He said it was getting dark, and the front side windows were tinted. He didn't see the vehicle from the front, just the side."

"Well, it's something, right? Let's get on it." Booth said as he sat down at his desk and reached forward to turn on his computer.

* * *

They had traced the vehicle to a Ben Nightingale. And now, as O'Hanlon had just informed him, a team of agent's were posted at his house. Booth wanted to be there with them because Nightingale was an unknown quantity. During their inquiries they'd received wildly differing accounts of the man by his friends, colleagues and from some distant family members. Some claimed that he was a good guy, an honest, hardworking man who never courted trouble of any kind. Other accounts were less favourable. He had a temper. He liked to gamble...a lot. He owed money. He hit his girlfriend and put her in the hospital. Booth couldn't be sure which accounts were factual and which were fiction; all he knew was that their prime suspect was potentially dangerous. That maybe he was the type of man whose mood turned on a dime. Was he the Jackrabbit killer? Time would tell.

Booth took a large gulp of his coffee and headed back to his office. He sat down at his desk and leaning forward onto his elbows, he rested his head in his hands and massaged his temples with his thumbs. For the past hour, he'd found himself zoning in and out. He knew he needed to rest but there was no way he was going home until Nightingale was in police custody. He took another swig of the strong coffee and pulled up his emails on the computer screen. He cast his eye over the many unread messages and deleted those which didn't require his immediate attention. If it was important the sender would email him again, or God forbid, pick up the phone and call him. He almost deleted her message by mistake.

_FROM: catherine bryar_

_TO: sbooth  
_

_SUBJECT: Dinner...tonight?_

_Hi_

_My friend called to cancel our date this evening and so I find myself at a loose end. I was hoping you might be free to keep me company._

_How does this sound: a home cooked meal, good wine, better conversation and... _

_Anyway, hope you can make it. Give me a call._

_Catherine_

He knew he should be over the moon right now. A beautiful woman wanted to cook him dinner, ply him with wine and...? Hell, he knew where Catherine hoped the night would end. If he had any sense, he'd finish up tonight and race on over to her place. He pulled the keyboard closer to him and began to type.

_FROM: sbooth  
_

_TO: catherine bryar  
_

_SUBJECT: Re:- Dinner...tonight?_

_Catherine – _

_Your offer sounds great, really great in fact. But I have to work. Can I take a rain check?_

_Sorry..._

_Seeley_

Apparently, he had _no_ sense at all. He was holding out to see if Brennan wanted to meet him for a drink after work to celebrate closing their latest case. Booth couldn't help but smile widely when he remembered how they had belted out a couple of choruses from "Hot Blooded" on stage at the rock camp. He still couldn't get over the fact that she could play guitar. She constantly surprised him. They had planned to meet at the Founding Fathers two days ago on the evening they closed the case, but he'd gotten a call from Pops saying that his old army buddy had died and so Booth had driven over to the retirement home and accompanied him to the wake. And then the next night the Jackrabbit case picked up pace again.

In fact, he'd not seen much of Brennan since those two days they had spent undercover at her high school reunion. She had been busy identifying some World War 1 soldiers from Limbo and he'd been neck-deep in paperwork. He'd also spent four days at a training seminar in New York. Apart from the time they'd spent together working the aquarium case and then, just recently solving the untimely death of the wannabe guitar hero, he had seen relatively little of her. He thought back to the evening they'd spent at the Founding Fathers after closing the aquarium case. He'd pushed it. He knew that. But it was only because she was so frustratingly 'okay' about the whole dating other people thing - he'd just wanted to test her out. So he told her that he was going to see Catherine again and then he saw what he had been looking for. She was adept at hiding her emotions, he'd give her that, but he knew Catherine bothered her. She bothered her a great deal.

He'd seen the same look on her face just the other day when she mentioned Catherine and that damned social contract theory of hers, and so he'd called her on it. He'd flat out asked her why she kept bringing her up in conversation and in response she taken the wind out of his sails by telling him that she was fine with him talking to her about Hacker. As if he wanted to talk about Hacker! Why the fuck would he?

Booth picked up his cell and dialled.

"Brennan."

"Bones, it's me. I was wondering if you wanted to grab a drink after work to celebrate closing our case."

"Yes. That would be nice. I'm seeing Andrew on Friday night and so my evening is free."

"Okay. I'll meet you there. Say 8:30 p.m.?"

"I'll be there."

Booth snapped his cell shut and sighed deeply. The woman couldn't help bringing up Hacker at every conceivable opportunity. Was she trying to convince him that she definitely wasn't interested in pursuing a relationship with him, or was she trying to convince herself that dating another man was what she wanted? He suspected both. But whatever her motivation, her behaviour was borderline adolescent. It irritated him and softened his heart in almost equal measure. She wasn't good at relationships. She didn't know how to play games. She was just doing what she thought was right, without realising that every word out of her mouth spoke of something else, that every jealous look she tried to hide behind a smile told him that she wasn't fine. She wasn't moving on. And so he didn't either. Not really. Not in the ways it counted.

* * *

Later:

In the end, he'd postponed their drink until 9:30p.m. She was still working on a John Doe from Limbo when he called to delay things and she didn't mind at all that she would have to spend an extra hour at work. Booth suspected if he hadn't called her and asked to delay their drink, she would have called him instead.

They had sat talking until almost midnight. He'd walked her to her car and told her he'd drop by the next morning to update her on the developments in the Jackrabbit case. He waited until the red taillights of her toy car were two coloured pinpricks in the distance before he climbed inside his SUV and headed home.

He showered and then threw on some faded grey shorts and fell into bed. He was completely exhausted. He was so tired that his eyes stung when he tried to close them. So he kept them open in the almost pitch black darkness. Booth couldn't get her words out of his mind. He couldn't stop remembering the way she had stared at him, as if silently pleading with him to accept her words and the feeling behind them. _"Our partnership is so important to me. You know that, right?"_

He breathed deeply and willed the butterflies in his chest to slow and settle. He had wanted to tell her then that he wouldn't rush her, that they could fall together and find their way together. But he knew deep down that she would have to find her own way. She needed to test love, his, and her maybe her own, before she let it really touch her. He couldn't assist in that process. If he tried, she'd shut him out and run away because it was all she knew. She was paralysed by her past, by old wounds that would never heal. He wanted to tell her that she would never get over being abandoned by her family, not fully. How could someone ever really recover from that? But that didn't mean that she shouldn't trust love. That she shouldn't trust in _his _love.

Booth rolled over and closed his sore eyes. He needed to be patient. He needed to take a leaf out of her book and let his brain rule his heart. She would examine, deconstruct and rationalise his love and he needed to back the hell off and just let her do what she did best. He knew that sooner or later she would hit upon the answer. She would see the truth, their truth. He would love her always and she deserved that. And maybe then she would be brave enough to love him back.

The butterflies weren't listening to his unspoken plea. They flitted and spun faster and faster inside his chest. Her love would be like a force of nature. Booth just knew it. She was going to blow his mind.

_**

* * *

AN: I once attempted a 'trip through the optics', and honestly, I got maybe four drinks in before I gave up. It may just be me, but most alcoholic drinks taste foul. **_

_**Re Booth's thoughts in the final part of this chapter – I may just be a hopeless romantic (yep, that's exactly what I am) but I like the idea of Booth realising that when Brennan commits to loving him that her love is gonna knock his brightly coloured socks off. **_

_**Thanks for reading and I'd love to know what you think. But hey, we all have busy lives...and so no expectations here. I've never been one to press for reviews – after all, why should you? To be honest, I'm pretty crap at it myself. But I'm trying to be better. :)**_


	18. Meeting At Night

_**AN: Really sorry for the delay in posting. **_

_**This next chapter catches up on the fab GD episode before moving on to grapple with the finale. **_

_**Ah, the finale...I gotta say, I was left feeling a tad 'underwhelmed', even though the separation makes sense and I loved the end scene. Still, I'm trusting that a team that can deliver a wonderful episode like the 100**__**th**__** can hit those heady heights again. And I also think the actors have it in them to make the B&B story wonderful, realistic and moving. Oh, and HOT. I need them to be scorching. Is that too much to ask of season 6, and maybe season 7?**_

_**As for my story - I would stress that this chapter **__**doesn't signal the end**__**. I've maybe 4 more chapters in me. In order to fuel those 4 chapters, I had to intervene in the established plot; I had to mess around with things. Sorry to anyone who knows how the US military works...I've taken **__**major**__** liberties, I'm sure.**_

_**So, let's get to it. I said a few chapters ago that I might add my own spin on the season finale. So, consider yourselves "spun". **_

_**Disclaimer: They're still not mine.**_

_**

* * *

**_

_**Meeting At Night - Robert Browning**_

_The grey sea and the long black land;  
And the yellow half-moon large and low;  
And the startled little waves that leap  
In fiery ringlets from their sleep,  
As I gain the cove with pushing prow,  
And quench its speed i' the slushy sand._

_Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;  
Three fields to cross till a farm appears;  
A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch  
And blue spurt of a lighted match,  
And a voice less loud, through its joys and fears,  
Than the two hearts beating each to each!_

* * *

Booth had been at it for three straight hours, but so far, Nightingale's story held up. He wasn't in D.C. the night Kate Greggan was abducted. He had numerous credible witnesses that placed him in Columbus, Ohio, and so Booth hadn't been able to refute anything the other man had said. He leaned back in the unforgiving hard plastic chair and looked the other man over a final time. He was hiding something, sure, but he didn't fancy him as their killer. He told the suspect to stay put and left the interrogation room and walked round to the connected viewing room. He opened the door to find Sweets standing in the centre of the room. He was watching Ben Nightingale closely through the two-way mirror and he didn't turn around as Booth walked over and stood next to him.

"I believe him." Sweets said solemnly as he anchored his hands on his hips.

"Me too. Still, something's off. He's keeping something back. He's worried about something."

"He could be displaying symptoms of stress because he's being questioned by the FBI. It may be that simple."

"Nah. That's not it. He's twitchy about something else, but I don't think he's gonna give it up."

"So, you're letting him go?"

"Our techs and some squints from the Jeffersonian went over his van with a fine toothcomb and it was clean. And so without anything to hold him on, yeah, Sweets, I'm gonna let him go. We'll toss him back into the pool of people we're monitoring. That's the best we can do."

Two hours later Booth had just finished his very late lunch of assorted crap from the vending machine. It had been raining on and off since earlier that afternoon and the sky continued to grow darker, heavier. Straining to read the typed words on the thick report in his hands, he switched on his desk lamp.

"Man, it's getting wild out there." Booth looked up as Charlie stepped into his office – the other man taking in the view of the street below.

"I was hoping it would blow over. Parker is playing Tee Ball tonight and I have a bad feeling it's gonna be rained off."

"That's too bad. So...Nightingale?" Charlie questioned as he took a seat opposite Booth.

"Nightingale's a non-starter. He was giving off a definite squirrely vibe, but I don't fancy him for the murders. Dr. Sweets agrees."

"Fuck! Are we ever gonna catch a break?" Charlie spat angrily. Booth understood his frustration all too well. Earlier as he questioned Nightingale, he'd silently willed the man to confess. He wanted it to end - for him, for Charlie and his team, for her, and for the poor women and girls who had been reduced to memories long before their time.

"Doesn't look like it." Booth said lamely and tossed the file onto his desk. Some of the pages creased and folded, but he made no move to straighten them out.

"So, how you doing, man?"

"The same as you, I guess. I just..."

"No. I meant...you know, 'cause of the trial tomorrow."

"I'm good. Taffet's going down. Bones, the squints and Caroline will see to that."

"I'll be rooting for you, man. We all are."

"I know. Thanks."

Charlie must have sensed this was all he was going to say on the matter and so he got to his feet and headed towards the door.

"So...good luck, Booth."

Booth nodded once and then turned to his face his computer screen. He didn't need luck. He had Bones. And she was better than luck.

The truth was that Heather Taffet's upcoming trial, although never far from his thoughts, had for the past couple of weeks been vying for top position in the list of things that preoccupied him day and night. He knew Brennan and Hodgins had to be feeling the same way. He stared at his computer screen and quickly came to terms with the fact that he wouldn't make it through the rest of the day if he didn't see her. He could try and kid himself and reason that he wanted to check up on her, to see if she was okay – but really, his desire to see her was almost exclusively selfish.

* * *

He left work just before the darkly brooding afternoon slipped into evening time, and headed over to the Jeffersonian. As he approached the forensic platform, he heard Brennan issuing a dressing down to one of her interns. Booth wasn't sure which one. Maybe that Mr. Murray kid, or perhaps the depressive guy – really, what did he care? Her tone was even, her words deliberate and precise and she wasn't pulling her punches. Yeah, she was feeling it too. She wasn't going to admit that anyone, probably not even to him, but she was struggling to hold it together. He knew that when she felt herself floundering she grounded herself in work, in science and in her mania for logic. And when she did that, woe betide anyone who let her down or didn't measure up. She could be ruthless, arrogant and frustratingly superior. The more pronounced those traits, the more scared she was. As Booth stood back and watched the intern take his lumps, he realised that she was really scared. And this in turn scared the hell out of him.

Brennan was their trump card. He knew it. She knew it. She was the one who was going to ensure that Taffet never saw the outside of a jail cell for the rest of her miserable life. His own role was minor. He, Hodgins and the rest of the squints were mere supporting characters in a play which would star only two protagonists: Brennan and Taffet. Their hopes, their collective faith had wordlessly been placed in her hands and Booth tried not to think about just how heavy a burden that was to carry.

When she finished 'educating' the unlucky intern, she resumed her examination of the sepia coloured bone fragments scattered on the polished stainless steel table in front of her. The poor guy hovered a few seconds longer before Booth noticed the cold look of recognition that flickered across his face. Silently, the intern backed away from the table a few paces before turning and walking hurriedly down the steps of the platform. Booth knew what it felt like to be summarily dismissed by her. It stung. In those early days of their partnership, she had cut him down to size more times than he cared to remember. She had ridiculed him, belittled him and sometimes just plain ignored every word that came out of his mouth. The only reason this memory didn't make him madder than hell was that he'd done the same to her. He'd told her that cops solved murders, not scientists, and he'd set about proving that very thing every chance he got. Of course, it wasn't long before they began to fully realise the others' respective strengths, and gradually their supercilious hostility faded away until what they were left with was mutual respect. And love. There was always love. For her...there was love for her...right from the beginning.

"Booth."

"Hi, Bones." He smiled. Her hair was swept back from her face and drawn together into a haphazard ponytail. She looked predictably beautiful, if a little tired. And, fuck, he didn't care that he was staring.

"Was it him?" She asked urgently, and he hated that he was going to have to let her down. He hated that he was about to add to her burden. He wanted her to forget about the Jackrabbit case for now and just concentrate on getting through the next few days of the trial, but he knew she wouldn't thank him for keeping the truth to himself.

"No. It wasn't him. We need to look elsewhere."

"I see." She looked worried and defeated, and he began to rethink his decision to come clean.

"So, is this someone from Limbo?" He gestured towards the table.

"You're changing the subject." She said placing her white gloved hands on the sides of the table and stared down at the bone fragments.

"Yes. I am." He said hoping that she would play along.

"Fine. Then, yes, this is someone from Limbo."

Things were better after that. The tension, the weight of seriousness, the inescapable magnitude of what they faced the next day was placed a manageable distance away. But not forgotten. They confined their conversation to the Limbo victim and only occasionally referenced the upcoming trial. Sometime later, Booth asked the inevitable question.

"Did you eat today, Bones?"

"Yes."

"What did you eat?"

"Booth, it's really unimportant what I ate. I need to..."

"You skipped lunch again, didn't you?"

"I had a banana."

"So, yes. You skipped lunch."

"I was busy. I _am _busy." Booth heard the bite to her words. He didn't care. He needed her to be on top of her game in the morning. He needed to look after her. It was as simple as that. Of course, he'd never dare tell her that, for fear of losing a limb, or something more vital.

"I'm taking you out to dinner. Somewhere other than the Diner or Wong Foos."

"When...what, now?" She clarified as he nodded his head and within a few paces was standing directly in front of her, putting maybe a foot of distance between them. He'd been careful of late to respect her personal space, but tonight he was too tired, too strung out to take care. She would have to deal with him this way.

"I need to finish my examination of this femur, and then..."

"You've got half an hour. I'm gonna wait in your office so I don't distract you, or get in your way. But in 30 minutes time, I'm coming back here and we're going to get something to eat." He didn't hang around long enough to hear her response.

In the end, he compromised, and exactly forty five minutes later they exited the underground parking lot at the Jeffersonian and joined the steady stream of night time traffic. He drove them to Gino's and nabbed the last free parking spot. He walked half a step behind her. When they reached the part glazed door to the restaurant, he let his hand fall to the small of her back and used his other hand to push it open. If she was bothered by his close proximity, she didn't let on. And so, as they were shown to a table to the rear of the busy restaurant, he again let his hand linger at her lower back. It was only when he was seated opposite her that he realised he'd been holding his breath.

"We haven't eaten here before." Brennan remarked as she shrugged off her light jacket and hung it on the back of her chair.

"The food is great. The pizza's especially."

"Why haven't you brought me here before?"

The right answer was that he either ate there alone or he came with a date - the former more usually the case. He didn't say that though. Instead, he told her that he'd only known about the place for a little while, that it was recommended by someone at work. Of course, when the waiter came over and asked him if he'd like a bottle of Chianti, as usual, and called him by his first name, he felt altogether stupid. He could see Brennan studying him as he ordered the wine. He was more than thankful when she turned her attention to the one of the menus the waiter had handed to them.

"I think I'll get pumpkin and parmesan risotto. What about you?"

"A steak, I think."

"I thought you said the pizzas were good?"

"They are. I just feel like ordering something different."

"But you haven't looked at the menu, how do you know they serve steak?"

"Everywhere serves steak, Bones."

"You know that's not true."

"It's truer than you think."

"Did you bring Dr. Byrar here, Booth?"

"What? I told you..."

"Yes, but you lied. I don't know why."

"So now you can tell when someone is lying?" Booth brushed his hand roughly through his hair and wondered why she always had to make things difficult. Why she couldn't just let things slide.

"I can tell that you are lying."

"No. I haven't been here with Catherine. Are you happy now? Is the interrogation over?"

"But you've been here with other women?"

"Yeah. So what, Bones? I can eat wherever the hell I like."

"Of course you can. I'm not talking about that. I just want to know why you were concerned that I shouldn't know that this is somewhere you bring your girlfriends."

"You want to know? You really want to know?" He saw her take in a breath and hold onto it. He saw the uncertainty in her eyes, but he wasn't going to back down. Neither, it would appear, would she.

"You...you were the one who said there shouldn't be any secrets between us. You said that." She said holding the thick red menu in front of her like a shield. He ignored her body language, ignored her tone.

"You're right, Bones. Right, as always. And I told you my secret, didn't I? I told you, and you said "no"."

"Booth...I..."

"And so I guess I didn't want you to think that I'd brought you here to try and make you change your mind. I didn't want you to think that I brought you here so I could try and make a move on you. Look around, Bones. This place is packed with couples. The lighting is dimmed to romantic perfection, there's a candle and a freaking rose on the table... the place reeks of romance, and I didn't want you to get the wrong idea."

"So you lied?" She didn't let go of her menu, and he could see the whites of her knuckles as she held it tight to her.

"Yeah. I lied."

"Oh..."

"So, can we just order already?" He looked around for a waiter.

"Yes." She answered quietly and finally put down the menu. "Please can you order for me, Booth? I need to use the bathroom."

He studied her back as she walked in the direction of the bathrooms. He saw the tension clearly evident in the way she walked, in the way she held herself. He wasn't going to blame himself. She brought the tension on herself. She did that. And he didn't know why. Why did she always have to push his buttons? Why couldn't she see that a train wreck lay ahead and change direction? Why did she have to crash into him...over and over? It wasn't doing either of them any good.

He was taking a sip of the more than respectable house Chianti when Brennan returned. And really, he wasn't all that surprised when she told him that she couldn't stay for dinner after all. _He hadn't ordered already, had he?_ He told her no, even though he had. He listened to her story, and played right along with her. _Angela had called her; of course it'd be Angela. She had to go. She was needed...some kind of Hodgins-related issue. _ Booth had to give it to her – she had really thought this though in the short time she was in the bathroom. She told him she'd catch a cab and that he should go ahead and order anyway.

He watched her walk away from him again. He watched her all the way to the door before he took another sip of his wine. It really was excellent wine. And he was sure he'd drink plenty more of it before the night was through. He smiled a rueful smile. He looked around at the numerous couples dotted about the restaurant, and wondered why love was easy for some people and fucking impossible for others. The solitary red rose sitting in the slender vase in the centre of the table mocked him silently. And the tall tapered candle continued to shine its delicate light. He watched as the candlelight flickered as people walked past his table, each time the resulting breeze caused the light to stretch quickly towards her chair. As if showing him what he had, but now had lost.

She thought she'd seen through him. And she had. She had, to a point. But his choice of restaurant was deliberate. When he'd seen her earlier at the Jeffersonian, he wondered how she would look lit by candlelight. He had his answer. It was the same answer as always. She would always be the standard. He refilled his glass. His cell buzzed against his heart and he reached inside his grey suit jacket to answer it. He stopped short when he saw Catherine's name flashing next to the cartoonish icon of a cell phone. He let it go to voicemail and then placed it back in his pocket.

Sometimes love was fucking impossible.

* * *

The Next Day

He arrived at the Courthouse an hour earlier than needed. Brennan had insisted on driving herself, and he wanted to be there when she arrived. He didn't want to leave her alone for a single second, knowing that _she knew_ that Taffet was somewhere close by. He was going to stick to Brennan like glue, and he wasn't going to put up with any of her crap about it. He just wasn't. She arrived twenty minutes later and was followed moments after by Angela and a very subdued looking Hodgins. The four sat lined up on a bench near the entrance to Court 1. They tried their best to make conversation, but each attempt never lasted longer than a few sentences. Booth watched as Angela took Hodgins's hand in her own. He wondered if Brennan would throw a fit if he did the same. Probably.

Then Caroline was there. Then Cam and Sweets. Then Max. Her father had made an appearance as he and Brennan were walking towards the entrance, with the aim of buying a coffee from the cart out front. She was less than pleased with his decision to attend the trial. Booth couldn't really understand why. Her father wanted to be there for her, just as he did. He'd told Max to back off, to have a little faith in her and her team, but he had sympathy for the other man. He just wanted to do what he could for his daughter. He was still trying to make up for lost time and Booth wondered if deep down Max ever really thought that was possible.

They made it down to the cart and ordered their coffees. The sun shone brightly in the now cloudlessly calm sky, and it seemed wrong in a way. To Booth, it seemed like everything should just stop. It was incredible that anything existed beyond that court room. So much depended on this trial, it was about so much more than just a 'guilty verdict'. The spectre of the Gravedigger had cast a black shadow on their lives for long enough. It was time to put Taffet away. It was time to bury the fear for good_. No pun intended_, he thought to himself.

They sipped their coffees as they climbed the many steps of the courthouse and disappeared inside. The squints were now lined up on the bench and Max was standing next to them. Booth slowed to a stop in front of them. He looked over to Brennan and she nodded. He looked at Hodgins and the other man lifted his chin and gave a firm nod of his head. They were ready. It was time.

* * *

Two Weeks Later 

She had nightmares. She was feeling the burden of death weighing her down. What they did would never be enough. People would always die in horrible and terrible ways. They couldn't eradicate evil. They couldn't stem the tide, they couldn't stop the flood.

And she didn't want him to die. She didn't want to have to cope with losing him. She wanted a break. She wanted her old life back, her old priorities. She wanted to be safe again. She needed to run. And he would let her. He wouldn't fight her. And without her there to stop him, the decision to give another year of his life to the Army was one of the easiest he'd ever made. He would run too. He would be in danger of losing another part of himself, another piece of his heart...he knew that. With every bullet fired he would die a little more. But he couldn't stay. Not without her. Not without going insane. The bullets would take their toll in expected ways. They would worry old wounds but they wouldn't open new ones. But staying behind without her would kill him in ways he couldn't predict.

Hacker had been understandably pissed. But when Booth handed over the slightly crumpled letter from the Department of Defense and told him that he needed to go, he knew he'd put the other man in a no-win position. Hacker could try and keep Booth on American soil and be accused of turning his back on his own country, or he could let his best investigator go and prepare himself for the crap that would be thrown his way from the Director and the politico's, who would chastise him for leaving the Jackrabbit investigative team a good agent short. In the end, after an afternoon's deliberations, he signed off Booth's leave of absence. He'd even stopped by his office and wished him well. He didn't mention Brennan once, and Booth was grateful for that.

Booth folded a pair of jeans and squashed them into his olive green duffel bag and then pulled the drawstrings tight and swung the heavy bag over his shoulder. He took one last look around his bedroom and made sure to close the door behind him. He walked through his uncommonly tidy apartment and was satisfied that he'd done a good job. Riley was coming to stay next week for a few months with Emma and the kids while they waited to move into their new house. He was glad to be able to help his friend out. It meant that Riley and Emma didn't have to pay to rent somewhere while they waited for their self-designed new house to be built. According to his friend, the structure was up, the floors and roof in place, but internally, it was far from finished. They hadn't planned to move out of their current property until their new house was ready, but they'd received an offer on their place that they just couldn't refuse. Booth had wondered if Riley would mind the commute to Annapolis, but the other man assured him it was a small price to pay, and it wouldn't affect Emma, she could write anywhere. Besides, they were looking forward to being 'city slickers' again.

He stopped by his front door and put down the bag. He reached for his black leather jacket and put it on. He was aware that his heart was racing. He knew his palms were sweating and that his stomach had been churning uncomfortably since he woke up at 4 a.m. that morning. He knew all this, and he knew he had to shut it out. He had to get the hell out of there before he changed his mind. Before he really let himself think about what lay ahead. He was going to train people to kill other people. He might not be the one actually taking lives. He might not be the one pulling the trigger, but he'd have blood on his hands all the same. And he was going to have to live with that.

As he lifted the bag again and swung it over his shoulder, he saw a flash of yellow out the corner of his eye. He dropped the bag and reached down to pick up the yellow post-it note which had fallen off the mirror by the front door.

"_YOU __ALWAYS__ DRIVE – __NEVER __BONES"_

He folded the small square of paper and stuffed it into the front pocket of his jeans. He didn't need the note to help him remember. He remembered just fine. He just..._needed _it. When he was miles away from home it was going to remind him of his life back in D.C. It would remind him of their countless conversations as they raced across town on the way to a crime scene. He hadn't taken anything else to remind him of her. The truth was that over the years he'd given her little keepsakes – Brainy Smurf and Jasper came immediately to mind, but she hadn't given him anything. They swapped Christmas presents, of course, but the gifts they brought one another were either jokey or run-of-the-mill. The only thing she had given him 'just because' was a dedication in her novel. Not that he was complaining. He still found it hard to believe that she had done that. His name was there in black type for the entire world to see. His name! Seeley Joseph Booth, a nobody in the grand scheme of things, had his name written in a book which had stayed on the New York Times Bestseller List for nine months. The trouble was that he had to pack light - therefore carrying a 700 page hardback book was simply not an option.

Booth closed his front door and made sure to lock it behind him. When he reached the first floor, he took the key from under the fake rock next to the building's entrance. He'd already couriered a spare set of keys to Riley. As he was without transport, the FBI having taken back his Cruiser, he walked down the block to the intersection. He waited only a few minutes before a cab rounded the corner of the street. He gave a sharp whistle and it stopped dead a few feet from where he stood. He told the driver to take him to Fort McNair, which would be his home for the next couple of weeks before he shipped out to Afghanistan. He settled back into the well worn black leather seat and closed his eyes. He didn't want to see the houses, the stores and the landmarks whiz by. He just wanted to open his eyes once they made it to the base. He was running away. He was running from her absence and he didn't want to witness the journey. He just wanted to be someplace else...now.

* * *

Two Days Later – Fort McNair, Washington D.C.

And yet, when it came to it, he couldn't let her go that easy. He had to see her one last time before she went off on her dig in the jungle. He'd even gone so far as to sneak off the base because he couldn't get a pass. He didn't even want to think about what would have happened if he'd been caught. But it was worth it. What he saw in her eyes in those few short minutes they had together made it all worth it. Her love would be like a force of nature. When she let herself fall, when she trusted enough...she would love him in ways he could only imagine. She would fill him up, make him whole and he would spend every day he had left on this earth ensuring she felt the same way.

He'd wanted to kiss her. Of course he had. But it would have been too much. It would have made walking away impossible. But, unlike that night outside Sweets's office, Booth had no doubt that she would kiss him back. He had reached for her hand. It was_ just_ enough. And they'd made a promise. And Booth didn't doubt that she would keep it. One year from yesterday, they would meet at the Reflecting Pool. One year, minus a day. 364 days to be exact. He could do this. He could hold out and hold it all in. He could and _would _make it through.

He looked at the digital clock on the wall in front of his bed. The green numbers shone brightly in the darkened room. He was the third bed from the end, and judging by the snoring echoing all around him, he was the only one not asleep. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what Brennan might be doing at that very moment. Had she made it to the dig site in the Indonesian jungle yet? Was she thinking about him?

He opened his eyes again and stared again at the clock - 4:47 flashed brightly. He turned onto his side and cursed at the noise caused by the worn bed springs. He really didn't miss army life. He didn't miss any of it. Jesus! What the fuck was he doing here? What had he done? Why the hell did he think he would be able to get through this? When she was standing in front of him, holding onto his hand, it had all seemed easy somehow...or at least manageable. But now the distance and the time seemed to stretch on forever. Now, not seeing her for one more day seemed impossible. He needed to get the hell out of there. He needed to make it clear to someone that he'd made a mistake.

He flipped over onto his back before turning once again onto his side. He was uncomfortable. The dormitory was far too warm. In fact it was pretty much airless. He hadn't slept at all and had only managed to sleep for a few hours the night before. He tried to shut out the sounds of other men breathing and snoring and sighing. But the sounds didn't stop. He couldn't shut them out. _Breathe. Snore. Sigh. Breathe. Snore. Sigh_. Over and over. Again and again. He placed his hands over his ears and pushed his palms hard against the side of his head. Then, through the noise, he could hear his own heart beating. He heard his own breath leave his body. He listened carefully until that was all he could hear.

He felt his pulse begin to race and almost immediately he felt the back of his neck moisten with sweat. He heard and felt another breath leave his body. But he couldn't seem to take a corresponding breath in. His head felt heavy, while his body felt light as air. _Breathe, Seeley. Breathe! _

He knew what was happening but was powerless to do anything about it. He rolled over and off the bunk onto all fours. He climbed to his feet and on increasingly unsteady legs staggered to the end of the dormitory and opened the door to the communal bathroom. He switched on the too bright overhead light and squared up in front of one of the basins. He placed his hands on either side of the bowl and dry heaved until his throat was burning and sore. He lifted his head and caught his reflection in the large rectangular mirror which spanned the six basins lined up on the wall opposite the showers. His eyes looked black and lifeless and his skin pale and greasy looking. His regulation military style haircut aged him somehow and he noticed the few gray hairs over his ears. He was too old for this. He was too old and too damaged to go through this all again. He was a father now. A father! How the fuck could he have walked away from Parker? Thinking about his son was like a sucker punch to the gut and he slumped over the basin, just managing to lock out his arms to keep from smashing his face against the pristine porcelain.

_Breathe! Breathe! Breathe! _But he couldn't.

His knees made painful contact with the white tiled floor as his hands still gripped the edge of the sink. He couldn't see straight and so he closed his eyes in the hopes that this would alleviate the nausea. Booth could hear his deep gasps bouncing of the walls in an endless loop and the sounds he was making frightened him more than anything else. He sounded desperate. He sounded like he was dying. And dying is what it felt like.

He wasn't sure how long after he came to. His shoulder must have taken the brunt of his fall and as he lay on the bathroom floor, he tested the muscle and bone with his shaking fingers. No permanent damage, this time. He heard the door to the bathroom click open and he clambered to his feet, just managing to stand before someone walked in.

"Sarge...you're up early."

"Yeah." He said unevenly and willed the tension from his voice.

"Man, how loud does Kemp snore?"

"He's pretty vocal. Did you sleep?"

"Yeah, on and off. But I got enough. You?"

"Like a baby, Private Daniels."

Booth turned his attention back to his own reflection as the other man relieved himself. The kid was maybe twenty, and try as he might, Booth couldn't help but see Teddy Parker's face every time he looked at him. He didn't want to hold Daniels as he died. He didn't want to feel the kid's blood cool against his own skin. He couldn't do that again. It was a mistake. Being there was a fucking mistake.

He forced down some eggs at breakfast and was glad he did so as he set out on the mandatory five mile run around the base. He needed energy from any place he could get it. For much of the time, Pvt. Daniels stuck close to him, but as Booth sensed the finish line ahead, he kicked harder and pulled away. He crossed the line thirty or so metres before the younger man caught up. He didn't take anything from the victory. He wasn't competing. He let the guys in his unit congratulate him and he smiled and joked along with them as they made the inevitable jokes at his expense. There was life in the old dog yet...etc. He listened. He smiled. But all he could think about was escape. All he could think about was escaping his life, his reality, to be with her.

* * *

The Next Day:

Escape, when it came, was unexpected, and was totally not of his doing.

At just before 9 p.m. he was summoned to the office of Lieutenant Colonel Marsh. He figured it was to run through the protocol for the scheduled departure to Afghanistan in ten days time. He was literally stunned to see Director Cullen and one of the smooth-talking suits from the State Department sitting in the chairs opposite his new boss.

"Sir." He said and saluted.

"At ease, Sergeant Major. It would seem that we have a problem."

"Sir?"

"It seems some strings have been pulled. You're not coming on that plane."

"I don't follow..."

"I really don't have time to explain. You need to pack up and be off base within the hour."

"Sir, I don't understand." He addressed his question to the uniformed officer and not to Cullen.

"The FBI wants you back. There's nothing I can do about it. The decision was taken well over my head. The Army thanks you for your dedicated service. Now, I've got to start looking for your replacement. I'm sure you'll excuse me, gentlemen."

Booth watched the Lieutenant Colonel leave his own office. He turned to Cullen and the suit. His old boss climbed to his feet and smoothed his hands inside his suit navy blue jacket and placed them on his hips. The older man looked worried, drained. Suddenly, Booth had the sense that he was about to be tossed from the frying pan into the fire.

"We lost Agent Rios." Cullen said simply. Booth didn't seek clarification. He knew what 'lost' meant. He kept his emotions in check and waited for Cullen to explain.

"And Agent O'Hanlon is missing. We're not banking on him still being alive."

"How?"

"We don't know, exactly. They were chasing down a lead and things went bad. We need you back, Booth. The Jackrabbit team is in freefall and we're still no closer to catching the bastard."

"But Rios and O'Hanlon...they found something? Right?"

"Yes. But we don't know what. And...we found another body."

"Fuck." Booth said, suddenly feeling completely out of place in his military fatigues. He stepped forward a few paces and matched Cullen's stance exactly. The irony wasn't lost on him. He was FBI now.

"The bodies were transported to the Jeffersonian yesterday afternoon. The squints have been busy, but we're still no closer to finding out what happened to our guys."

"You think Rios was killed by the same person who's been murdering these women and girls?"

"Yes. We need our best people on this, Booth."

"Then you'll need Dr. Brennan." He said automatically.

"We have her."

"You have her?"

"Yes. We caught up with her while she waited on a connection in Seoul. You, on the other hand, were much harder to catch up to."

"She came willingly?" Booth asked trying to picture the scene in his head. He wouldn't have wanted to be the agent that was tasked with tracking her down and bringing her home. Well, okay, maybe he would.

"Mostly." Cullen said wearily, but Booth sensed that underneath it all, his boss had nothing but respect for Brennan. She had pushed for the truth when his daughter was diagnosed with terminal cancer, and while she may not have been able to save Amy, she had discovered the horrible truth of how the teenager had contracted the disease. Because of Amy, Brennan had saved others from the same fate. Booth knew that Cullen would always be grateful to her for that.

"How long has O'Hanlon been missing for?" He asked as he made a move towards the door, the two men following him out into the muted light.

"A little over fifteen hours." Cullen confirmed.

"We get a proof of life?"

"Nope."

"What do the squints think?"

"They think that Rios was shot in the head point blank by a 22 calibre bullet. They found traces of O'Hanlon's blood on Rios's pants and shirt, so they think he was hit too. You know what they're like, Booth, they think lots of things, but they won't go on record with anything until they triple-check every goddamn result. We need more than just concrete evidence. We need a lead...something to go on. We haven't got time to hang around waiting for certainties."

"That's just the way they work. They'll come through for us, they always do."

"They'll come through with you there watching over them and poking at them."

"You know, Dr. Saroyan is more than capable..."

"Dr. Saroyan has been very helpful." The grey haired man in the suit finally spoke up.

"But...?" Booth asked.

"But we need an FBI liaison. You're that link, Booth." Cullen said coming to a stop near his black sedan. "I don't know how you function in that environment, but you do, and we need you back. Charlie is waiting to brief you. Catch up with him first before you see Assistant Director Hacker."

"Yes, Sir."

Booth watched the two men drive away and then he jogged back to the dormitory building. It took him less than five minutes to get changed into civilian clothing and to pack up his meagre possessions, and then he was out the door. He stopped by Lieutenant Colonel Marsh's office before leaving the base. He filled in some forms. He handed over his uniform and he made meaningless small talk. The truth be told, he wasn't sure what he should say. He was worried that his relief was written all over his face. He felt ashamed.

Ten minutes later he was escorted off the base. As the electrified fence closed behind him, he realised that he had no way of getting back to the Hoover Building. Cullen and the suit had left him to it. He looked right and then left. He had no hope of catching a cab this far out. He switched on his cell phone and started walking while he waited for it to find a signal. He was about to dial her number when the cell started to vibrate in his hand.

"Booth."

"It's me."

His heart started hammering in his chest and he wondered how it was possible that he could feel this undone after only a few days of not seeing her.

"Bones. It's good to hear your voice again."

"We saw each other 3 days ago, Booth."

"I know, but it doesn't make it any less true."

"Andrew informed me that you have been roosted from the army."

"I think you mean "boosted", Bones."

"I assumed you'd need a lift back home."

"Yeah...actually, I was about to call you. I'm kinda stranded here, Bones."

"I can see that."

"Huh?"

"Turn around, Booth."

He turned to see Brennan sitting in her eco-friendly toy car holding her cell phone to her ear. She had snuck up on him...that was possible when you drive a stealthy electric powered car. He started to walk over to her.

"Thanks, Bones." He said into the phone.

"It's not a problem. You look tired." She said softly.

"You can tell that from here?"

"I can tell from your gait."

"Hmmm, what else can you tell?" He smiled as he realised that a mere five metres separated her from him.

"I can tell that you're pleased to see me." He heard the smile in her voice.

_Four metres to go. Three...two..._

"Bones, you have no idea."

_One. I love you. I love you. I love you. _

He opened the trunk and tossed in his green duffel bag and then climbed into the passenger seat. As soon as the door closed behind him, she pulled away from the curb.

"So, did you miss _me_, Bones?"

"Like I said, we were only apart three days."

"You didn't answer my question."

"I know."

"So?"

"So, I'm thinking."

"You need to think about whether or not you missed me?" He laughed. It felt more than good.

"I missed you, Booth." She said as she turned the steering wheel and drove them down another deserted tree-lined road.

And just like that the past few days slipped away. He was back at the airport holding her hand. He was asking her to meet him halfway. Only this time they weren't going to wait a year. They would have to work it out as they went along.

* * *

_**AN: I can't believe we have months and months to wait until the new season airs. Urrrgh. I know I should be looking forward to summer, not that we've had one of those here in Blighty for a few years now, and to the end of studying whilst trying to hold down a very full time job...but I'm gonna miss them. I want to know what happens. I want to know NOW. **_

_**I would love to know what you thought of this chapter. Am keeping my fingers crossed that you liked my intervention.**_

_**Thanks for reading. :)**_


	19. I Swear

_**I'm suffering big time with "Bones" withdrawal. Is it September yet? No? Crap.**_

_**Anyway, here's the next instalment – hope you like it. It's a little racier than most other chapters – I'm almost sure you'll forgive me. **_

_**Disclaimer: They're still not mine. Not now. Not ever.**_

_**

* * *

**_

_**I Swear - Rumi**_

_I swear, since seeing Your face,_

_the whole world is fraud and fantasy_

_The garden is bewildered as to what is leaf_

_or blossom. The distracted birds_

_can't distinguish the birdseed from the snare._

_A house of love with no limits,_

_a presence more beautiful than venus or the moon,_

_a beauty whose image fills the mirror of the heart._

_

* * *

_

Brennan had dropped him off at the Hoover Building 30 minutes earlier. He had caught up with a totally strung out Charlie and had paid a flying visit to Hacker, who, for once, maintained a serious conversation from start to finish. Booth figured that the death of a fellow cop could do that to a guy. Now he was back in his office and it felt more than odd. Less than 3 hours ago, he was wearing army fatigues and trying to hold himself steady enough to prepare for the trip to Afghanistan. But now he was Special Agent Seeley Booth. The quick turnaround had him playing catch up.

He cancelled his 'out of office' message and after a few terse calls to the FBI IT Department, he was given his requisite access rights. He didn't know where to start. He knew pretty much every D.C.-based agent was scrambling around, chasing down leads and making sure that everything that could be done was being done. He couldn't add to those efforts. He needed to do what he was paid to do: lead by example. He needed to show his agents that there was hope for O'Hanlon, that they could still save him. No. That they _would_ save him. And in order to ensure this was more than just an empty promise, a hollow rallying-call, he needed to consult the squints.

Brennan was where he expected her to be. He swiped his card and raced up the stairs of the forensic platform. She was re-examining Rios's body. Booth didn't take a breath, there wasn't time. He couldn't do anything for the agent that lay cold and silent on the stainless steel table, but he could and would do his damndest to save another life. Hodgins was at her side and Booth felt a surge of gratitude toward the other man. The entomologist was scheduled to be in Paris, on his honeymoon no less, but instead he was trying to help, doing his part, and generally being the man that Booth knew him to be.

"What about Paris?" Booth opened. He didn't know what else to say.

"It'll still be there next week. Hey, it's good to have you back, G-Man." Hodgins looked up briefly in acknowledgment before he angled the telescopic light so that Brennan could examine the exposed cranium and interior aspect of the skull - or "face" as Booth preferred to call it.

"I'm not used to dealing with tissue, Booth." Brennan said tightly as she measured the bullet-damaged frontal lobe.

"I know, Bones. But we're kinda working to a deadline here. What do you see?"

"I'm not sure what else we can add to our initial findings. He was killed by a 22 calibre bullet. It struck him in the frontal bone and travelled through into the cranial vault. He...he didn't suffer."

"I guess that's something."

"I really think there is more to learn by examining our other victim." She motioned to another table on which the partially skeletonised remains of a young woman lay equally silent.

"Who is she?" Booth asked as he looked over to the table. He was grateful for the chance to look away from the horrible reality of Rios's body.

"Monica Gagne". She's sixteen years old and her injuries are typical of those suffered by the other Jackrabbit victims. Booth, the FBI has insisted that we work on the deceased agent; we've barely had time to do more than cursory exam on her."

"Maybe if we concentrate on her, we'll be able to find out what happened to your buddy here." Hodgins added.

"Then do it." Booth said as he walked over to the other table.

"So we can stop our examination of the agent's body?" Brennan said, seeking his reassurance, which led Booth to conclude that the FBI had come down hard on the Jeffersonian on this one.

It was obvious that Brennan and her team had been told to focus on the agent and Booth was suddenly more than grateful that Cullen had sprung him from the army. He was the FBI liaison for good reason. He knew when to reign in the squints and when to hang back and let them do their thing. He learned a long time ago not to try and direct them and despite the fact that he wanted to find out everything there was to know about Rios's death, he knew that their best chance lay with the murdered girl. Rios had undoubtedly been shot at arm's length. The killer hadn't touched him. But the girl...the girl, he'd touched. Out of cruel necessity, he'd been close to her. The blows she'd sustained had come from his fists and the deep cuts to her pelvis had come from the same type of blade that had sliced into the bones of those that had gone before her.

"So, what can you tell me?" He asked as he surveyed the pitiful collection of mostly naked bone.

"Her injuries are consistent with the other victims, including Kate Greegan. But what we really need to work on is trace evidence. Do you give your permission to Dr. Hodgins to collect and analyze samples?"

"Yeah, Bones. I just said you should work on her."

"I felt it was important to obtain your explicit permission; I don't want to be accused of not following orders."

"Since when do you care about following orders?" He shot back, amused.

"I care a great deal so long as I respect the person giving those orders."

"Otherwise you just ignore them, right?"

"I'm not comfortable with the word "ignore"."

"Hmm... Fine. Yes. I give my verbal permission for Hodgins to start collecting samples...but I see I'm too late, he's already started." Booth said throwing his hands up in the air as Hodgins made it down the last of the platform's steps and raced towards his station.

"Hey, Ange might have been cool about postponing our honeymoon, but if I'm late home again, she's going to flip big time." Hodgins yelled, as he slowed to a walk.

"Ah, married life..." Booth said just as loudly.

"Yeah. That's just it. I'm missing out on _my_ married life!"

"You're a good guy, Hodgins."

"Yeah. I'm a good guy who's gonna be missing a testicle if he doesn't make it home for dinner tonight."

Booth chuckled and then turned his attention to Brennan. "Bones...you need me to stick around?"

"No. I'll call you as soon as we know anything."

"Okay. Listen, I'm gonna drop by my place to pick up some clean clothes and then...oh, shit!"

"What, Booth?" Brennan said quickly looking up from the dead girl.

"I told Riley he could use my place for a few months...I'm homeless."

"Can't you tell him that you've changed your mind?"

"I can't. He's staying with Emma and the kids while their house is finished off. I can't just take back my offer."

"Will he be there now?"

"No. I'm good for a few days, but then I'm screwed."

Booth watched as Hodgins jogged up the steps and rejoined them. "You forget something, Bug Man?"

"Yeah. The samples." The scientist said as he slapped his hand against his forehead.

"Hold on one minute. I only _just_ gave you permission to start collecting them." He watched as Brennan and Hodgins studiously avoided eye contact with him and then, finally, the pair had the good grace to look at the floor. Booth couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"Bones?"

"I...we... What does it matter now, you've given your permission."

"Lucky for you." He countered with a smile. He supposed he should be mad that the squints had defied an order issued by the FBI, from the Director, no less, but somewhere along the line, her people had become his people and so the lines of command, of delegation and legal principle had blurred. Besides, the squints worked for the truth, sometimes obsessively so, and really, how could you fault that?

"Let's move on, shall we?" Booth said feeling his good mood slip away in an instant as he once again considered the fact that he would very soon have nowhere to live. As if reading his mind, Brennan stepped forward, closer to him.

"Booth, regarding the issue of your imminent homelessness..."

"Wait. Booth is homeless?" Hodgins said interrupting his boss.

"Not yet. No." Both confirmed as he stifled a yawn, the total lack of sleep the night before now catching up with him. "I promised my place to a pal of mine, you know...when I thought I wouldn't need it."

"Booth, I have room...if you want to, you could stay..." Brennan stammered before falling silent as Hodgins cut in again and offered Booth the use of Zach's old lodgings above his garage.

"It's a self contained apartment. There's a fully equipped kitchen, a separate bathroom, a shower room and a den." The curly haired man said

"Hey, thanks Hodgins. That's really generous of you. But what about when you go to Paris; won't you need me out then?" A not insignificant part of him was hoping Hodgins would confirm this to be the case.

"No. You can stay as long as you need to. I'll give you the codes for the gate and the inner gate and you'll be good to go. Besides, who better to guard the ancestral home than an FBI agent and trained sniper?"

Booth tried to catch Brennan's eye. He wanted to somehow let her know that he wasn't accepting Hodgins's offer because he wanted to, but rather because he was worried about, among other things, how it would look if he turned him down. He could spend the next few months in a self-contained apartment and come and go as he pleased, or he could impose on her and commandeer her only spare bedroom. Staying over the bug man's garage was the only sensible option. If he chose to stay with her it would be obvious that he was only doing so because of his feelings for her. She would know it and so would he. Besides, it would be awkward, uncomfortable and sheer fucking torture to be that close to her during the day and then again at night. There would be no escape. And Booth wasn't sure that he'd be able to stop from making a fool of himself. One glass of wine too many after dinner and he'd likely try to kiss her again, then she'd back away, _again_, and he'd apologise and slink back to his room. No. There was no way he was going to put either of them in that position.

"So, you're saying I'll be a glorified guard dog?" Booth joked half-heartedly; she was avoiding his gaze on purpose. He knew it.

"Sort of. You in?"

"Yeah. Of course. Look we'll come to an arrangement over rent and utilities..."

"Forget it, Booth."

"No. I won't forget it...damn, that's my phone. Look, we'll sort something out, okay, Hodgins?"

The other man met his eye; a look of stubborn resistance etched on his face, which soon disappeared as he realised that this was an argument he wasn't going to win. Hodgins nodded his reluctant agreement just as Booth answered the call.

He wanted to stick around and try to talk to her but Charlie had told him that he was needed back, and so he muttered a hasty goodbye before he rushed down the platform steps and headed for the exit. He wanted to tell her that he was touched by her offer, and that it meant a lot. He needed to look her in the eye and say "thank you". But there wasn't time. When he reached the entrance to the underground parking lot, he stopped and almost turned back. He needed her to know that he wasn't rejecting her – but that it was the best thing for both of them that he stayed elsewhere. He stood for a few moments, unwilling to move forward but unable to turn back. Then his cell buzzed again and the decision was made for him.

"Sir. Yeah...I got a call. I'm on my way in now."

* * *

The Next Day

It was coming up on 5:30 p.m., and he hadn't seen Brennan all day. He wondered when he'd reached this point where he counted the hours between seeing her. He looked again at his watch and then he broke into a run.

He followed Jacobs and Parish as they cut across the waist-high grass and dense tangle of weeds. He stopped a metre from their backs as they reached the door to the dilapidated barn. He saw Jacobs, the much bigger man of the two, take in a deep breath before he struck out his leg and kicked in the worn wooden door. It swung clear of its rusted hinges and clattered to the bare cement floor, sending up a thick cloud of dust. The three men split up and each pointed their guns into every angle of the rectangular space. It was deserted. There was no place to hide out, and having checked every inch of the ground, it was clear that there were no access panels cut into the floor. O'Hanlon wasn't there. And there was no sign whatsoever that he'd ever been there. The tip off they'd received last night, the one that took him away from the Jeffersonian, was a dud, and they'd wasted hours on nothing. Booth signalled the news to Hacker as he some twenty minutes later strode towards the collection of police vehicles set up a half mile from the barn. The other man nodded back and didn't try to hide his disappointment. Then he made a quick call to Brennan to let her know that the whole thing had been a bust.

When he finally made it back to the dark blue Ford sedan, a temporary loan until his Cruiser was reassigned to him; he tossed the cumbersome bullet proof vest he'd been wearing into the trunk and climbed into the driver's seat, slamming the door behind him. The kid was still out there somewhere, maybe dead, and they didn't have a clue. How was that possible? How did a person shoot dead an FBI Agent and kidnap another without someone seeing something? He gunned the less superior engine and steered out of the makeshift parking lot, in his rear view mirror he saw Hacker and the other agents preparing to move out.

The drive back to D.C. would take at least an hour, rush hour traffic would see to that. Booth turned on the radio and then spent the next few minutes trying to retune it. He managed to program in a few channels that weren't broadcasting non-stop country music. _Who the hell had loaned this car before him, anyway? Kenny Rodgers? _He settled on a drive-time news channel and paid scarce attention as the rural picture outside his window slowly transformed into a cityscape.

He found that all he could really concentrate on was her offer. He knew that staying at Hodgins's place was the sane option, but he couldn't stop thinking about how staying with her would have played out. Would they celebrate closing a case at the Founding Fathers and then return to her apartment and go their separate ways? Or would they stay up drinking and talking into the night? Booth knew which option was more likely and this just made him feel worse. And then there was the fact that he couldn't get the image of Brennan wearing that robe out of his head, the one he'd seen her wearing that night he dropped by her place after they closed the subway murder. Man, he'd give almost anything to see her in that robe again...the way the bold printed silk smoothed over her hips and ass like a second skin... At least staying at Casa Hodgins would ensure that blood continued to flow to all his vital organs, and not just one.

Booth fed the steering wheel through his right hand and turned the car onto K Street. Night time had tried its best to blanket the still-busy city in darkness but the many street lights, headlights and the lights from shops and apartment blocks shone brightly. He switched off the radio and tried to get comfortable in the unfamiliar driver's seat. He badly needed some sleep. He'd managed a few hours the night before but he was still playing catch-up. The thought brought to mind the time they had fallen asleep in his apartment. He had wanted to kiss her that night. Shit, when_ didn't_ he want to kiss her? As she'd lain there, snuggled against him, he had wondered what it would be like to kiss her everywhere and then retrace his steps and taste her all over again. He was still wondering.

Booth couldn't help it; he had to wonder if she'd ever kissed Hacker like that. Had she snuggled with him on her couch and kissed him in that slow but gloriously hungry way that made it clear that soon kissing wouldn't be enough? Fuck, he hoped not. And, God, _he _wanted to kiss her like _that_. He wanted her to kiss _him_ like that. He loosened his dark pink tie, a mostly unconscious action that did absolutely nothing to quell the heat that licked at his neck and face. If she ever kissed him like that, he'd devour her, own her, and give himself over to her in the hope that she'd consume him in the same selfishly eager way. They may not actually defy the laws of physics but they'd come close, he just knew it. And somewhere deep inside he believed she knew it too.

He broke hard as the amber light he'd been starting at without seeing flashed to red. The nose of the Ford peeped out over the stop line and he tried without success to rid his mind of images of her kissing him, straddling him and slowly sliding and rocking beneath him. She was back in his life again, just shy of a year earlier than planned. She was within touching distance, kissing distance and for reasons he couldn't fathom, he wanted her so much that it was all he could think about. This wasn't a new phenomenon, not entirely, but now his desire and his need for her felt so much more urgent.

Without warning he pictured her standing before him in her office, her hair was flowing against her shoulders and she was naked from the waist up. The rose blur of her nipples registered only briefly as did the outline of her generous breasts, but they weren't his focus. He imagined walking slowly over to her, as she turned her head slightly to the side, suddenly unsure of her bravery, her recklessness. He kept on walking and when he finally stood before her, he dropped to his knees and encircled her waist with his arms. He began to kiss her stomach and inch down with the tips of his fingers the waistband of her very smart, very professional black dress pants, until he could taste a tantalising sliver of the soft skin of her lower belly. He moved between her legs and fixed his hands at her hips as he pushed her firmly against the edge of her desk. He unzipped her pants and then gripped at the waistband again. Then he hesitated. That's when she sighed and told him not to stop. It was always the same. He'd think he'd overstepped the mark only to realise that this is what she wanted. He slid her underwear down with her pants; the time for subtleties was over. They both knew it. He nudged her long legs farther apart...

Booth jumped in his seat as the driver of the car behind sounded his horn twice, letting him know that the lights had changed. He pulled away quickly and shook his head, trying to shift his focus to the road. It mostly worked. But by the time he reached the Hoover Building, he was still hard. He killed the engine and released his seatbelt. Then, slamming his head hard against the headrest, he tried to think of anything else except for her. At that moment, as if somehow she knew he was suffering and wanted to torture him some more, she called him.

"Booth?"

"Bones?"

"Are you at the Hoover yet?"

"I just got here."

"I was wondering if you wanted to get something to eat later."

"Sure, so long as you promise not to bail on me again." He couldn't help it. He was still hopelessly turned on - she'd have to forgive him for being a jerk.

"I won't." Was all she said in response, and he instantly felt bad as he caught her hesitant tone.

"Where do you want to go, the Diner?" He asked, softly.

"What about that place we went to the other evening...you said they did great pizza."

"Gino's. Yeah, they do."

"Can we go there?"

"Um...sure. Sure we can." Booth was struggling. Not only were they going to have dinner together, just days after he'd held her hand at the airport and tried not to beg her to stay, to plead with her not to let _him_ go...but now she wanted to go back to Gino's. Fucking Gino's! After he told her that this was somewhere a man took a woman when he wanted to romance her and get her into bed.

"If you'd rather we ate somewhere else, I can..." Suddenly, she was all business again. He could picture her holding the phone to her ear as she looked over a report or maybe typed an email. Meanwhile, he was barely holding it together.

"No, its fine, Bones." He couldn't help the tightness in his voice. He really was trying to keep his temper under control but she wasn't making it easy.

"Are you sure?"

That's when he heard it. Hope. He detected the _hope_ in her voice and he realised sadly, and with increasing fury that she wanted to move past their goodbye. She wanted to start over or pick up where they'd left off – or maybe some combination of the two. Is that why she offered him a place to stay? So that she could prove to herself and to him that she could move on, that she _had_ moved on? Did she really think it was going to be that easy to press the reset button? Did she honestly believe that they could just ignore what had caused them to run in the first place? Caroline had called it. They were running from each other. Both of them had come to the point where leaving was the only thing that made sense. He wasn't the only one...it wasn't_ just_ him.

"Booth, are you still there?"

"Yeah. I'm here."

"So, I'll meet you there about ten?"

He gripped the steering wheel, and told her "Okay", even though it _really _wasn't.

When she ended the call he made no move to get out of the car. He'd had enough. And she needed to _know_ that he'd had enough. He looked down and observed the whiteness of his knuckles with cool distraction. She needed to know what she did to him. Maybe then she'd see that their partnership was teetering on the edge of the abyss. That maybe it couldn't be saved. He was going to tell her that he wanted to kiss her all the time, he would make her see that being around her just made it worse, that it tore him up on the inside. He was going to look her in the eye and tell her that he fantasised about taking her on his desk, on her desk, on the goddamn floor of the forensics platform, that he dreamed and daydreamed about making love to her and fucking her. He would take care to explain the distinction. He was going to tell her everything and then leave her to work out what the hell she wanted to do next. She couldn't expect him to always have the answers, especially when he'd lost his way long ago.

He slid the keys from the ignition and got out of the car. He had almost two hours to kill before he met her at Gino's. He would get his head down and work. Walking back into his office he noticed that the pile of paperwork he'd set aside earlier had doubled in size; he slid the first folder off the top and sat down at his desk and began to read.

He continued to read until 9:45 p.m. Then he got up and pushed the seat of his chair underneath the desk. He found Charlie and told him that he was taking off for the night but said to call if anything happened or if they needed him. He was about to step into the elevator when his cell phone rang. He paused and flipped open the phone – her name flashed on the screen. He always took her call. _Always. _He stared at the screen a second longer before diverting her call to voicemail. He caught the elevator doors before they closed and stepped inside. _"No way you're bailing on me this time, Bones." _

_

* * *

_

_**AN: Just wanted to say: I don't dislike Country Music, but I have a feeling Booth isn't a fan. Anyway, I hope you're still enjoying this story - it's building to a finale folks, trust me. **_

_**Oh, and as for Bones and her 'apparent' cluelessness – I don't buy it. ;) As frustrating as Brennan can be sometimes, I love her. She's kinda a hero of mine. I was gonna say "heroine", but it sounded too "drugy"! Man, its fun to channel Cam. **_

_**As for Booth: as much as I loved the 100**__**th**__** episode, I wanted him to fight a little harder. The beauty of straying away from cannon is that I can make him fight. And fight he will.**_

_**If you have time, I'd love to know what you liked or didn't like. It really helps me to keep on track. Also, as I'm writing this without a net, so to speak, as previously I've taken my cue from the show, it'll be good to know if still hangs together okay.**_

_**Cheers, BA x**_

_**PS: I finally finished my studies – I now know much more about licensing law than I really want to - and so updates should appear on here quicker.**_


	20. You

_**Thanks so much for reviewing and for adding my story to your favourites or for registering for story alerts. I really hope you like this next instalment, it was fun to write and in some ways quite cathartic. :)**_

_**As promised, Booth proves that he's as good as his word and confronts Brennan about how he feels. My biggest hope for this chapter is that the change in dynamic, the definite shift in gears doesn't come at the expense of realism.**_

_**So...here we go...**_

_**Disclaimer: Don't own 'em...sing it with me.**_

_**

* * *

**_

_**You – Carol Ann Duffy**_

_Uninvited, the thought of you stayed too late in my head.  
so I went to bed, dreaming you hard, hard, woke with your name,  
like tears, soft, salt, on my lips, the sound of its bright syllables  
like a charm, like a spell._

_Falling in love  
is glamorous hell: the crouched, parched heart  
like a tiger, ready to kill; a flame's fierce licks under the skin.  
into my life, larger than life, you strolled in._

_I hid in my ordinary days, in the long grass of routine,  
in my camouflage rooms. You sprawled in my gaze,  
staring back from anyone's face, from the shape of a cloud,  
from the pining, earth-struck moon which gapes at me_

_as I open the bedroom door. The curtains stir. There you are  
on the bed, like gift, like a touchable dream._

_

* * *

_

Booth arrived at Gino's at 10 p.m. exactly. He was seated two tables south of where they had sat just four evenings prior. He felt out-of-sorts and dislocated somehow from his surroundings. He had to remind himself that he was FBI now; he was back where he belonged, he had his life back. It wasn't until he arrived at Fort McNair that he really appreciated the life he had built since leaving the army the first time round. He didn't realise how much he treasured it until he truly worried that he'd given it away cheaply, and much too recklessly.

He sipped at the spicy red wine he'd ordered and looked over at the door. She was fifteen minutes late and counting.

He had moved on. The army was a step back, a way to assuage the guilt that still gnawed at him and tried to pull him under. He had told himself when he answered the call two weeks earlier that he was doing so to stop the Teddy Parker's of this world from dying unnecessarily. He would insist that the young men and woman entrusted to him do better - that they listen to orders, that they be ever watchful, ever vigilant. He would teach them Teddy's lesson, and maybe then he could heal that part of himself that remained broken, fearful and resolutely guilty. But as soon as he'd made it to the base he realised that he wouldn't be able to cope so easy this time. His experiences and growing awareness of the bigger picture would make it impossible for him to function as the army expected him to, needed him to. Worse still, he had to accept that answering the call was a way to focus on something else. He had traded his broken heart for a shot at redemption. He was sickened by his own cowardice and his own short-sightedness.

He registered movement out of the corner of his eye but soon realised that the woman entering the restaurant wasn't Brennan.

And then there was Parker. He couldn't believe he had put his heartbreak above the needs of his own son. He would never forgive himself for that. Booth took another sip of wine and tried not to think about all he would have missed out on if he had gone to Afghanistan: Parker's T-Ball tournament, Parker's end of term school play, Parker's birthday... He was suddenly so mad at himself that he almost got up and walked out. He didn't know what to do with his anger. In the blink of an eye he had turned into his old man. He understood that now. He had focused on his own needs, his own pain and edged his son's needs aside. He was scared that Parker would someday understand that he had tried to take the easy way out. He was scared that his son would think less of him, that he would see through his carefully constructed armour and glimpse the paper-thin man beneath. But most of all, he was scared that he had reverted to type.

Parker was the embodiment of his hopes, of his childhood dreams and his adult understanding of what it took to make in the world. His son would be the best of him and more. Parker was two steps removed from his old man, and one step away from him - he would be different. He would be different in the ways that mattered most.

At that moment he looked up. At that moment she walked in. And he wasn't ready. He was lost in the kind of honest and artlessly elemental deep thinking that demanded a person's absolute attention. And so he watched her walk towards him without truly seeing her. But when she spoke the spell was broken.

"I called you but you didn't answer." She said sitting down and reaching for the bottle of Chianti he'd set down in the centre of the table. She poured herself a glass and looked at him, waiting for his explanation.

"I was busy." He managed and tried like hell not to reach for her. He wanted to crush her against him. He wanted to feel something other than uncertainty and loneliness. He wanted her to make it okay again.

"It was important." She said taking a generous sip of the wine, all the while studying him in that way that he both adored and resented.

"So tell me now."

"The kerf marks on Monica Gagne's bones match those we found on the other victims."

"Okay."

""Okay", that's all you have to say?"

"It isn't like we didn't expect this."

"But it's evidence."

"Yeah."

"Is something wrong, Booth?"

"No."

"It is scientific evidence, irrefutable proof that the same weapon was used in her murder."

He didn't comment. He just looked at her; unable to think of anything other than the way he was feeling. He loved her. He wanted her._ I love you. I love you. I love you._

"Booth?" She said leaning forward, trying to command his attention. He watched as the candlelight danced across the curves and angles of her perfect face. She was breathtaking.

"She was killed with a blade which..."

"I'm in love with you." He sighed, and then watched as she pushed back from the table and tried to assemble herself into a shape that could deflect his words. She tried to rebuild herself in front of him and she mostly succeeded.

"I'm so in love with you that you're all I can think about."

"You _can't_ say that...you said that you would move on. And I am trying...Booth, I'm trying..."

"I think about you all the time...I can't function, can't move on, and you have to understand that."

"Don't say that...don't..." Her voice rose in both pitch and volume and he recognised the predictable panic in her eyes.

"I want to hold your hand and not just because we're saying goodbye. I want to kiss you again, Bones."

"Don't do this, Booth." She pleaded as she looked down at the wineglass in her hands. He stayed silent until she looked up again.

"I want to make love to you. I want to be inside you. I need you to feel what I feel."

"Don't you think I want you? I _do. _But you said that there was no such thing as 'just sex', and so I don't see..." She slammed the glass on the table and they both watched as a little of the wine spilled over the edge and stained the white linen tablecloth.

"I don't just want sex with you, Bones. I want more than that."

"I don't understand."

"Yes, you do. You _do _understand." He leaned forward and placed his hands flat on the table, she moved hers to her lap. He stared her down and whole seconds passed by before she finally spoke.

"I want you to take me to bed. Is that what you want to hear?" She said quietly, shyly, but she looked him in the eye nonetheless. He knew what she was doing. She was offering him her body, offering him a piece of her in the hope he would ask for no more.

"No. It isn't."

"I've wanted that for the longest time, can't that be enough?" He noticed the blush that coloured her chest and crept up the delicate skin on her neck.

"Bones, I want all of you."

"I can't give you what you want. I'm not capable of..."

"You're all I can see, Bones. You're all I want."

"How can you say these things? How can you bear to ruin everything?"

"I'm being truthful, damn it! I'm telling you that being without you...being alone...means that everything is ruined _anyway_." He willed her to understand but he could see that she was fighting his logic for all she was worth.

"I _told _you what our partnership means to me. What we do is important, people rely on us - you can't just throw it away."

"I'm sorry, but I need more and so do you."

"But there isn't 'any more'...that's what you don't understand. I can't give you _more_, I don't know how."

"You're not gonna scare me off, Bones. I'm not going to fold so easy this time."

"Then there isn't anything more to say." She made a move to stand and in doing so placed her hands on the table, within his reach.

He grabbed her left hand. "I'm asking you to try. That's all. Just try...try and be with me."

"Let me go, Booth. Let go of me now." She whispered angrily as she pulled her hand from his. He remained seated and made no attempt to reach for her again.

"I have to go." He could hear the fear in her voice. He could see the urge to run overtake her.

"You leave and I'm gonna follow you."

"But I don't know what you want me to say!" She pleaded as she swiped away a tear. A tear he did his best to ignore.

"I don't believe you."

"Your disbelief doesn't make it any less true, Booth."

"Bones...I..." He was left talking to himself as she spun around and rushed towards the exit.

He caught up to her as she reached the door. He reached in front of her and gripped the door handle and pulled inwards, caging her between him and a denied means of escape. She tried to push the door open despite him. It didn't budge.

"Please let me go, Booth. This is pointless. Arguing is pointless."

"Jesus...please...just wait up for a second! If that's all you can give me...if that's the only thing... Fuck, okay...okay! We'll do it your way. I'll do what you want me to do. If you want me to take you to bed, I will. If that's all you can give me then I'll take it. But you need to tell me what I can and can't ask of you. I...I won't know how to be that close to you and not want everything. I won't know how to stop telling you that I love you."

"Please, Booth...don't." He heard the tears in her voice and knew that she was on the verge of breaking down.

"Then tell me, Bones...tell me what words I'm allowed to say because I just don't know anymore."

"I will do no such thing. You are a grown man; you can say what you like." She pushed forward again, and realising that the door was still firmly fixed in place, a sob ripped through her.

He leaned closer to her. He leaned so close that her back moulded against his chest and he kept his voice low as he breathed against her neck and ear.

"Fine. Then I want to strip you naked and fuck you."

The palm of her right hand rested flat against the white wooden frame and he observed the difference in the pattern of her breathing. And so he leaned closer still. He felt her breath hitch again and he then understood that his words were affecting her in the way he'd intended.

"Are those the right words, Bones?" He questioned as he pushed the door open and permitted her escape. She seized the opportunity to run and he let her go.

Booth walked as calmly as he could back over to their table. He threw down $50, far too much to cover the wine but he wasn't about to stick around and ask for change. Then he walked out of the restaurant and made his way to his car. She was long gone. He didn't bother to hurry.

He obeyed the speed limit all the way over to her neighbourhood. He parked in his usual spot and wasn't surprised to see that her car was missing. He didn't let this deter him. He walked over to her building and quickly surveyed the intercom entrance panel. He pressed several buttons at random and then ignored numerous "hello's" and "who's there?" until eventually someone buzzed before asking who had called them. He heard the lock click open and he pushed the door and stepped inside. He rode the elevator to the top floor and when he reached her door he glanced at his watch - it was 10:45p.m.

He waited another ten minutes before he slid down the wall next to her door and tried to make himself comfortable on the floor. He didn't know how things had gotten out of hand so quickly. When he'd imagined telling her that he loved her, when he actually said the words out loud, he never anticipated that she would both retreat and advance all at once. And he couldn't know just how weak he actually was. He couldn't know that he would settle for having her body because he was too scared to demand her heart or walk away. He could know just how far he'd fallen.

But now he did. Now he knew. He _could_ try to move on. He _could _accept that she didn't believe that she could love him. He _could_ transfer back to Philly or maybe try someplace new. He _could_ show her and himself more damn respect. Or he could continue to fall. He could take as much of her as she would allow and hope that one day she would want more or that one day he would have had enough. But he really didn't see how the latter could ever be possible. That meant he would be gambling on her wanting more...on her loving him like he loved her.

Booth rested his back against the wall and sighing deeply, he prepared himself for a long wait. He knew what he was going to do. He never really had a choice...because his heart didn't allow it.

* * *

_**AN: **__**Okay, so I've taken a few pot-shots at Booth in this chapter – hope you'll forgive me. But he's not perfect...although, somehow, that just makes him all the more wonderful.**_

_**Re the next chapter: I can't promise that it won't be angsty but I can promise that Booth will continue this conversation with Brennan into the night. **_

_**Would be tickled pink to know what you think. Huh. Apparently, I can rhyme... **_


	21. Because She Would Ask Me Why I Loved Her

_**First: so sorry for the delay in posting. I've been struggling for the past couple of weeks with chronic toothache and sinusitis. Am almost all better – had surgery on Monday and now it's Wednesday and I'm feeling tons brighter. A mouthful of stitches is way better than searing pain and misery. Woe is me...obviously. :)**_

_**Apology over...let's get back to the story. Thank you so much for reading and for your effusively positive reviews. They make all the difference, truly. Keeping this story going, finding the enthusiasm for it is so much easier when I know that people are excited to read more.**_

_**Here's the other half of that conversation – hope you like it. **_

_**Disclaimer: Wishing they were mine makes me miserable.**_

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_**Because She Would Ask Me Why I Loved Her – Christopher Brennan**_

_If questioning would make us wise  
No eyes would ever gaze in eyes;  
If all our tale were told in speech  
No mouths would wander each to each._

_Were spirits free from mortal mesh  
And love not bound in hearts of flesh  
No aching breasts would yearn to meet  
And find their ecstasy complete._

_For who is there that lives and knows  
The secret powers by which he grows?  
Were knowledge all, what were our need  
To thrill and faint and sweetly bleed?_

_Then seek not, sweet, the "If" and "Why"  
I love you now until I die.  
For I must love because I live  
And life in me is what you give._

_

* * *

_

Angela Montenegro was a woman of many diverse talents. However, baking wasn't one of them. She swiped the back of her hand across her moist brow and cursed out loud at the sight of the sunken chocolate cake in front of her. This was her fourth attempt. She contemplated the array of provisions taking up most of the grey polished stone worktop and wondered if she had both the stomach and the heart to try again. Promising herself that this would be her very last attempt before she admitted defeat and bought a cake from a store like a normal person, she made a grab for the large and now much lighter bag of flour. She carefully weighed some butter after the flour, she had no need to consult the recipe; she had the measurements memorised.

It was all Jack's fault, she considered as she fixed the mixing bowl in place and set in motion the electric blender. He was the one with the favourite aunt who liked nothing more than a homemade chocolate cake. An aunt who at the age of ninety seven wasn't someone you wanted to disappoint, and an aunt who was coming to visit the newly married couple the next day. Once the eggs, butter and flour had combined into a pale yellow pourable mixture, she emptied in the cocoa power. She set the blender working again for a few shorts bursts before she decanted the now light brown mix into the lined cake tin.

So far so simple, but Angela had observed that her previous attempts seemed to go awry during the cooking process and so she made sure to check the temperature of the oven before she placed the round tin on the rack. She set the timer and then began what would be a lengthy cleaning-up process.

A few minutes later as she was dancing around the vast kitchen, dish cloth in hand, listening to Led Zeppelin's "Whole Lotta Love" on her ipod and strumming away on her air guitar, she thought she heard the intercom bleep. She turned down the volume and listened. Just when she'd convinced herself that she'd imagined it, she heard the bleeping noise again. Angela walked over and picked up the intercom videophone which was fixed on the wall to the side of the kitchen door. She glanced at the colour picture feed displayed in the state of the art monitor and was shocked and immediately concerned to see Brennan standing there.

"Bren, what are you doing here? Is everything okay?"

More alarming still was that her best friend seemed unable to form a coherent sentence because she was crying so hard. "Stay right there, I'm coming to get you." She hung up and rushed out into the night. She climbed in her Toyota and drove the short distance to the first set of security gates; she tapped the eight-digit password into the digital reader and then drove another half a mile to the main gate. Brennan was waiting for her there. And she was still crying. Angela jumped out the car and rushed round to grab hold of her friend.

"Brennan, what's happened? Are you hurt?" She said quickly letting go of her upper arms, realising that if she _was _hurt, she'd probably just made it worse.

"N...no." Brennan said as she tried to wipe away tears that were falling fast.

"Is Booth hurt?" Angela said stepping back and holding Brennan out for inspection in front of her.

"He..."

"What! He's hurt? Sweetie...please what's happened?"

"He's fine." Brennan finally managed as she walked round and climbed into the passenger seat of the Toyota.

"Then why are you so upset?" She questioned as she climbed in next to her.

"I need a drink."

"Sure. We have booze, Hodgins even distils his own gin...but that's a story for another time. Come on, Bren, what's up?"

"Booth and I had a fight."

"Oh. In that case we'll need lots of booze." Angela said as she started the engine and drove them back to the house.

She showed Brennan into the kitchen and effectively manhandled her into a seat before she rushed to the refrigerator and grabbed an unopened bottle of Vodka. "Would you rather wine?" When Brennan shook her head, she unscrewed the red top and poured a generous measure into a glass and presented it to her friend. She poured herself a more conservative measure and joined her at the kitchen table.

"It smells nice in here." Brennan said before drinking the entire measure in one hit. Angela got up and poured her another.

"I'm baking a cake."

"I didn't know you baked."

I don't. The garbage is full of my failed attempts.

"Cakes are easy."

"Brennan, what happened? Why did you argue?" She asked as she handed over the glass and sat down at the table.

"Booth loves me."

"Of course he does."

"No, Ange. He told me."

"Wow! He told you? I mean that's just...wow."

"You sound surprised that he told me but not that he believes he's in love with me."

"It's been obvious to most of us for a while now."

"How could you know?"

"I just knew. Just like I know that you love him."

"Angela." Brennan said with sad exasperation.

"Sweetie, you love him. You've loved him for years now."

"I care...I care for him very much."

"Look, I get that you're scared. I know you've been let down by people you've loved in the past but Booth is different. Booth won't let you down. I know it. Bren..._you_ know it. Booth loves you. Don't you think it could be possible that you love him back?"

"I...I believe love exists and before I met Booth I didn't'. But I don't know how it feels because I have no basis for comparison. I can only understand it in an abstract way. I don't know how love should feel to me."

"Okay, so how does he make you feel? When you're with him, how do you feel?" Angela asked not quite believing they were finally having this conversation.

"I feel protected, hopeful...frustrated, aroused and...I...I suppose happy and worried at the same time. But mostly I feel confused. I feel out of my depth."

"That sounds familiar." She said smiling.

"To you maybe, but it's new to me. And I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know how to act around Booth. Ange, I'm making a mess of things...all I seem to do lately is upset him and get him angry at me."

"Brennan, you need to talk to him. Tell him that you don't know what you're doing but that you want to work through things together. That's all he wants. I guarantee it."

"I don't know where to start."

"You start by telling him that you're not going to run again this time."

"I thought I'd have more time to think about this. That's why I wanted to go to Indonesia. I can't think clearly here, everything feels like it's closing in on me. I need some distance from all of this so that I can examine things from the outside looking in and not the other way around. He's too close here and I'm finding it impossible to be objective about my feelings."

"Okay. I understand that, I do, but how you feel about Booth is not something you can deconstruct and then analyse in its component parts. I know you can quote science back at me and explain the chemical basis for love, but that's not the whole story. And I know you'll try and rationalise your feelings and Booth's feelings, but there's more to love than that."

"The heart has its reasons that reason knows nothing of." Brennan said so quietly that Angela struggled to hear her. "Lately I keep thinking about those words."

"Sweetie, can I tell you what I think?"

"Your opinion would offer valuable insight given your prodigious experience with men."

"Don't say it like that!"

"Angela, you shouldn't be ashamed of your sexual history." Brennan said seriously.

"I'm not, but when you put it in those terms... Anyway, let's focus on you, shall we? Okay, here's what I think. You love Booth. And I _know_ you're in love with him because you're distraught. Because you're here engaging in girl talk and you _never _do that. And because I'll bet that all you want to do right now is be with him even though he has upset you and driven you to tears."

"Being upset and coming here doesn't mean that I love him...I'm worried about our partnership and our friendship." Brennan said finishing her drink.

"Okay, so tell me you _don't_ love him. Tell me once and for all that I'm wrong." When her friend failed to answer, she asked again. "Bren, _tell _me I'm wrong?"

"But it's not that simple. We wouldn't be able to work together anymore. It would be the end of our partnership."

"Brennan, this is one of those times when it _is _simple. What if he stops waiting and finds someone else? What if he gets transferred to another field office or gets a promotion and you can't work together anymore? What if the army comes knocking on his door again? He could leave your life because of any number of reasons and then you'll be left with nothing. Being with him might end your partnership, but it won't end you being together."

"But what if he gets hurt...what if I lose him."

"Oh, sweetie...I can't say it won't ever happen, no one can promise that, but you can't live your life that way. You're missing out on so much." Angela said sighing as she noticed the tears building in her friend's eyes.

"I need more vodka?" Brennan said unsteadily as she got up and took the bottle from the countertop.

Angela held her hand over her glass and watched as her friend poured what appeared to be at least a triple measure into her own glass.

"So where's Booth now?"

"I don't know. We met at a restaurant. I left him there."

"You left him there...how did things end?"

"He told me that he wants to have intercourse with me."

"Hmm, somehow I don't think he said it in those terms. So what did you say? Oh, please tell me you admitted that you want to jump his bones? God, if I wasn't married and, you know, you two weren't made for each other, I would so buy a ticket on that ride. That man is just so...phew." She fanned herself with a placemat and grinned as Brennan's pale face relaxed into a small smile.

"I'll admit I find him pleasing to look at."

"No, you think he's hot. I've seen the way you look at him."

"I have wondered what he would be like as a lover. He has a perfect acromion and his biceps are..."

"Yeah, like I said, he's hot. Hun, come on, he's there for the taking. Why deny yourself something wonderful."

"I _did _suggest that we have sex. It was my idea."

"What? You said that...what did he say?"

"He said he wanted more than sex. But then he agreed to it."

"Hang on, Bren. Back up. You offered him sex...sex, but not love?"

"I offered him all I can give right now."

"And he said he wanted more?"

"Yes."

"But then he agreed to sleep with you?"

"Yes."

"Brennan, you _can't _sleep with that man without committing to more than that. You can't do that to him."

"He didn't seem to have a problem with it and I think it could help us move past all the tension."

"Of _course_ he has a problem with it. And the tension between you isn't just physical. It's emotional and..."

At that moment Angela's attention wandered to the sight of her husband walking into the kitchen completely naked. She knew that he hadn't spotted Brennan, who was seated with her back to the kitchen door, and was, from Hodgins' vantage point obscured by a tall larder unit. She opened her mouth to warn him but was too late.

"Hey, sexy baker lady...you got any chocolate fudge frosting left?"

She turned to look at her friend who didn't look in the least embarrassed. In fact, Brennan was surveying Hodgins in that clinical, perspicacious way that told Angela that she was looking past flesh and was examining the skeletal structure underneath.

"No, I don't...um...and you might want to cover up."

"Why?"

"Because we have a visitor. No! Don't turn around!"

Angela buried her face in her hands as Hodgins turned around to see who was there with them. Upon seeing his boss sitting at the kitchen table, he let out a high pitched yelp and placed both hands between his thighs. Brennan had the good grace to look away as he desperately tried to preserve his modesty.

"Oh my God, Dr. B...shit! I didn't see you there."

Angela prodded him in the ass and passed him her apron. He replaced his left hand with the bunched up material and then backed out of the kitchen to avoid giving his boss a shot of his backside as well.

"Shit!" He said again as he knocked his elbow on the doorframe as he hurried out.

Brennan started to laugh and Angela wasn't far behind. They laughed until their stomach muscles protested and they were out of breath.

"Oh my God. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Hodgins is perfectly entitled to wander about his own house naked. I walk around naked at home. In the summer, I often take breakfast naked."

"You know, you should tell Booth that, he'll go nuts."

"He would do no such thing."

"Yeah. He would. You drive him nuts when you're wearing your shapeless overalls and are knee-deep in bones and sludge...nibbling on a croissant while wearing nothing but a smile would probably knock him on his ass."

"I've decided that I'm going to have intercourse with Booth."

"Okay. That's great, and fantastic and well overdue but you know that Booth needs more than that."

"He said that he is happy to commence a physical relationship."

"Yes. But not without love."

"He knows that this is all I'm capable of giving him and he made it clear that he wants to proceed on that basis."

"I don't know, Brennan, that doesn't sound like something Booth would be happy with."

"He seemed more than happy to me. In fact, he displayed very definite physiological signs of arousal."

"I don't doubt that, Hun. But leaving Booth's feelings aside for the moment - what about you? At Christmas you told me that you didn't want Booth to think that all you wanted from him was sex, but now that's _all_ you're willing to offer him. Sweetie, I get that you're scared, but now you know that Booth loves you. You know he loves the _real _you, not his coma-dream version of you and so..."

As much as Angela loved her husband she was most definitely not pleased to see him when he reappeared, now fully dressed, at the kitchen door. "Um, we're still kinda in the middle of..." She started as he walked into the kitchen, holding his cell phone out in front of him, his left hand covering the mouthpiece, ensuring that their conversation remained private.

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to interrupt, but I have a very wound up FBI Agent on the line who's determined that I confirm that Dr. Brennan is here and that she's okay. Because I value my life I told him that she's here. I didn't feel it was my place to answer the second question."

Angela looked at Brennan who shook her head and jumped up from her chair. Determined not to let her friend leave without finishing their conversation and also to ensure that she didn't attempt to drive herself home after consuming the best part of three triple vodka's, she took the cell phone from Hodgins.

"Hi, Booth, it's Angela. Yeah...yeah, she's here and she's okay." Sensing that Brennan was about to bolt at any moment, she asked Booth to hold on.

"Bren, we need to talk some more, and you shouldn't be driving."

"I wasn't going to drive, Angela. I am well aware that my co-ordination and vision is likely to be negatively affected by the alcohol I've consumed. I'll call a cab to take me home."

"No. I'll drive you. Jack, can you take care of the cake? It needs another ten or so minutes in the oven and then it can..."

"Let _me _drive you, Dr. Brennan. Angie, there's no way I want to take responsibility for that cake and besides, I don't want you driving across town this late on your own."

Angela sensed that Brennan wanted to take issue with Hodgins on this point. She was sure that some remark about the male impulse to be overprotective of females was on the tip of her tongue, but something stopped her. She put it down to the fact that Brennan obviously wanted to avoid talking to Booth. What Angela didn't see was the way that she had caught the look that passed between the newly married couple, nor did Angela notice the fresh tears that had sprung to her friend's eyes.

Angela agreed that Hodgins should take Brennan home and then she took a deep breath and told Booth that she was sorry for keeping him hanging on.

* * *

Booth hung up and breathed a sigh of relief. When the minutes had turned into hours and she still hadn't returned home, he began to worry. But she was okay. That's all that mattered. He wondered if he should get up and head for home but the thought of returning to his empty apartment filled him with sadness. Most of the time the fact that he was lonely passed him by, he guessed because he'd become so accustomed to being on his own, but sometimes the reality of his single life couldn't be ignored. What did he have to go home to: nothing? And after tomorrow he wouldn't even have a home, at least not for a couple of months.

Booth heard the elevator groan into life shortly after 1a.m. He stayed seated on the floor. He couldn't be sure it was her...but somehow he knew it was. A few seconds later he heard a "ding" and made out the sound of the elevator doors opening and then closing again. He heard footsteps. Her footsteps and he waited for her to round the corner.

She was crying. She stopped mid-stride, and her eyes widened when she saw him sitting outside her apartment. He wondered why she was surprised. He'd parked in his usual spot? Then the penny dropped - she didn't know he was using a rental car. She didn't know the car parked next to her space was his. Booth noticed that she made no effort to wipe away her tears and he knew the feeling: sometimes things are so hurtful that you have to surrender to the pain, lose yourself in it and hope you come out the other side intact. In true Brennan-fashion however, she recovered quickly from the shock of seeing him there and walked purposefully towards him. He climbed to his feet and made sure not to crowd her when she reached him. She rummaged in her purse for her keys and finding them; she opened the door and disappeared inside. Booth waited for only a second or two before he followed her in and closed the door behind him.

He walked into the dimly lit open plan kitchen/living room and for the first time that night was at a complete loss as to what he should say. Earlier he couldn't shut up but now he was struggling to find his voice, let alone pick the words he should use. Brennan was standing in the middle of the kitchen and Booth felt his chest constrict painfully when he realised that she was still crying.

"Are you okay, Bones?" He said stunned at the way his voice shook and thinned into nothing at the end. It was unquestionably the dumbest thing he'd said all night, but he had to ask. He couldn't ignore her tears, not now there were so many of them.

She didn't or couldn't answer, and he stood there feeling utterly helpless as she began to sob. He made a move towards her but stopped dead when she backed away and held both hands out in front of her, warning him not to get any closer.

"The last thing I ever wanted to do is hurt you. Bones, you have to know that. But I can't lie to you anymore. I can't lie to myself."

She was staring at the floor. She wouldn't look at him. She had straightened out her arms and held them tight to her sides. Her whole body appeared to shake with every sob and it was all he could do to stop grabbing hold of her. He felt like an intruder. He knew he should walk away, give her some time and some privacy, but he couldn't. He was frozen in place, more scared than ever that she would run away for good this time.

"Baby, please don't cry...I can't bear..." He began softly, fighting the tears that burned his eyes and strangled his voice.

Her head shot up and behind the tears he saw the anger and the fear that held her captive. "Don't call me that, don't dare belittle me."

"I'm not calling you a _child_. I didn't mean it that way."

"I know exactly how you meant it, Booth. I understand just fine. And I'm not your baby or any other demeaning term of dubious endearment designed to depersonalise women. I'm not _your _anything. I am me. Me! And I decide, okay...I decide what I want to be to you."

His anger flared despite him. "That's bullshit. _You _don't get to 'decide' that. Just like I can't tell you how you should feel about me. How can you not understand? Bones, you can't order me to stop loving you, you can't make it go way just because you aren't ready for it or don't want it. You can't tell me what to feel. Hell, I can't even tell myself."

"Then you're not trying hard enough." She said, using the sleeve of her white coat to dry her eyes.

He stepped forward, unable to help himself, and placed his hand flat against the centre left of her chest. He ignored the sharp intake of breath she took as he touched her. He was barely applying pressure but he could feel her heart pounding under his unsteady hand. And just as he knew that the sun was 27 million times larger than the moon - because she had told him, he knew that the helpless, unconscious pattern of her heartbeat matched the rhythm of his own.

"We can't choose who we fall in love with and you can't control your heart any better than I can. The only thing you can control is whether you listen to it or not."

"You realise that makes no sense. There are in fact two normal heart sounds that occur in sequence with every heart beat. The sounds are caused by the closing of the AV valves and the semilunar valves. There is no other sound, Booth. The heart muscle cannot be heard because it cannot _speak_."

"Too literal, Bones."

"I'll take 'literal' over fantastical any day, Booth."

He couldn't help the slight smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. Her hands had come to rest on her hips and for a brief moment he kidded himself that this argument was no different to any of the others that had gone before - the banter, the back and forth, felt right, felt like _them_, even though the subject matter had taken on a far deeper relevance. But then he noticed the tear that slid down her cheek and the 'almost smile' was wiped off his face in an instant.

"I...I don't seem to be able to stop crying. It's extremely annoying." She said immediately swiping away the offending tear.

"Bones, I..."

"I just need a moment."

"Sure...okay. Can I get you a soda or something? Um, do you wanna sit down?" He was at a total loss for something comforting to say. And so he babbled on all the while cursing himself for being so useless.

"A drink would be good...I'll get it."

Brennan walked into the living room and made for the large oak bookcase. When she returned she was holding a bottle of something that Booth strongly doubted was soda. His suspicions were confirmed when she reached for a heavy crystal glass from inside the cabinet by his head and poured herself a large measure of honey-coloured liquid.

"Would you like one?" She said as she took a slow drink and managed for the most part to suppress a shudder. Whatever it was she was drinking, it packed a punch.

"I need to drive home later."

"I see."

Booth wondered what "I see" meant. Was she really expecting him to stay the night? Was she hoping he would? He was still thinking, still second-guessing when she finished her drink and poured another and then asked him what had happened to his Cruiser.

"The Bureau assigned me another rental. They took mine when I told them that I was going to be gone for a year. I'm hoping I can get it back, the new car just doesn't feel right. What are you drinking anyways?"

"Gran Patron Anejo Burdeos"

"And that's meant to mean something to me?"

"It's Tequila."

"Then why not just say that?" He grinned and looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

"I like to be precise."

"Yes you do."

Again, at a loss for anything better to say, Booth attempted to keep the conversation going. "So, how's the happily married couple?"

"I suppose, happily married."

"Man, I didn't see that coming did you? I still can't believe they got hitched."

"You know, you didn't have to track me down. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"I don't doubt that, but I told you if you left that I was going to follow you."

"So you sought me out because you're stubborn? Or perhaps because you feel the need to protect me in spite of the fact that I've proven time and..."

"I tracked you down because I don't think we're done here, Bones. Do you?"

He was determined not to fill the silence with small talk. He wasn't going to make this easier on either of them. He cared too much to do that. Finally, she spoke.

"I'm not sure what else there is to be said. You claim to love me, you want a relationship but I can't give you that. We established that we are sexually desirous of..."

He interrupted her summary of events and didn't care that his voice was rising with every syllable.

"Hold up, Bones. I don't _claim_ to love you. I _do_ love you. There's no doubt, no mystery and no mistake when it comes to how I feel about you. I told you – I knew from the beginning that you were..."

"What about before your surgery. Did you know then?"

"Didn't I just say that?"

"Yes. But I'm curious all the same." There wasn't an edge to her voice. She was asking him plainly if what he felt was real. But nonetheless he had to force himself to remain calm. He could just about handle her telling him that she couldn't love him back, but there was no way on this earth that he would let her question his feelings for her. No way.

He stepped close enough to her that he could smell the tequila on her breath, and he once again tried to focus on his words and not think about what it would be like to kiss her.

"I have loved you from the very beginning. Hell, I loved you when I wasn't even sure that I liked you. I've wanted you for so long, Bones that I can't remember not being in love with you. And yes, _yes_, I loved you before my surgery; before you told me that you wanted a child, before Gormagon, before Epps, before Sully...I loved you."

"But you changed...after you came out of the coma, you changed. You can't ignore that and neither can I. All of a sudden you are sure of what you want and now you're demanding that I catch up."

"I did change. And I'm still changed. Sometimes...sometimes I feel like a part of me is missing and that scares me. It's like I'm a stranger to myself. I look at myself differently, you know, like I have to learn how to be me again, the changed version of me. But I know for certain that how I feel about you now is the same way I've felt about you all along. Angela's psychic was right – I didn't lose anything in that coma, I found something. I dreamed what it would be like to be with you and when I woke up all I wanted was that life."

"But it wasn't real, Booth. None of it was real."

"Yes it _was_. The way I loved you was real. It was never about wanting a _different_ life; it was about knowing that the life I was living was incomplete."

"You can't possibly know that because of a dream - a dream that wasn't all yours to begin with. They were my thoughts too, Booth. And I..."

"Yes, Bones! They were_ your_ thoughts. You imagined being pregnant and being married to me. I didn't make that up. _You_ did."

"Booth, I imagined that for the characters in my book. You were the one who imagined you and me playing those roles and living that life. That was never in my mind."

"I don't believe you. I've known you for too long to believe that you don't want that life. You're just scared to reach out and make a play for it. I'm in your books, Bones, and so are you. You just need to be open enough to see it."

He wondered if she felt it too: that spark. That indefinable yet somehow familiar sensation which seemed to hold them in place and build in intensity until one of them, sometimes both of them couldn't be still any longer and pulled away. The next words out of her mouth gave him his answer.

"Kiss me."

Despite the fact that her challenging tone did little to cool his temper and that the fear he saw in her eyes told him that she wasn't sure what the hell it was she wanted he instinctively moved half a step closer. He knew by trying to crash into him she was really pulling away. And he was determined not to cut her loose.

"What's the matter, Bones, can't you handle me this close?"

"Clearly I can, otherwise I wouldn't have asked you to increase our physical proximity."

He knew he should try and calm things down. Just take a step back and give her some space but his brain didn't seem to want to cooperate. Or maybe it was his heart. Her clear blue eyes held him hostage and his desire and need for her kept him moving towards her like a ferrous object irresistible to a magnetic force. He felt exposed, as though she was able to see every thought running through his head.

"Don't you want to kiss me?"

He couldn't shake the feeling that she knew he was doing his level best not to lower his eyes to her mouth. He continued to stare into her eyes and slowly let out a long breath. "Bones, I know what you're doing. I know when I'm being played."

"I'm not playing. I asked you a perfectly valid question. You appear to want to kiss me but you haven't. And given what you said earlier this evening about wanting to strip me naked and..."

He grabbed the front of her white coat and pulled her the rest of the way toward him. His clenched fist was the only thing separating them as he then manoeuvred her backwards towards the refrigerator. When her back hit the cold stainless steel door, he looked into her eyes and he didn't flinch. He didn't think twice. This was the only way...the only chance to make her see.

"I'm well aware of what I said earlier." He finally gave in and allowed his heated gaze to linger on her slightly parted mouth. Placing his free hand on the refrigerator door, an inch or so to the right of her cheek, he leaned in closer, silently cursing his own weakness.

"Okay, Bones...we'll do it your way." He took a last breath in as he surrendered all control.

He'd always imagined when he kissed her again that he would take his time. It was yet another example of how badly he'd misjudged his ability to keep it together around her. As soon as his lips touched hers, he pushed his whole body against her and reached around to the back of her neck, holding her firmly in place as he applied more pressure and nudged her mouth open a little wider. She relaxed easily into his kiss and he swept his tongue quickly across the velvety inside of her bottom lip and then fought the desperate urge to sigh as he felt the silky hot brush of her tongue against his own. When a heartbeat later he deepened the kiss, he knew in an instant that he was lost to it, lost to her.

He might have been able to slow things down if not for the fact that Brennan was kissing him back with the same kind of reckless desire. He felt her arms reach round to the small of his back; she paused for only a second before her hands travelled up and across his shoulder blades. One hand slid round and gripped the starched material of his white collar while the other smoothed and tugged at the still short hair at the back of his neck. Booth reached between them and untied the belt of her coat and pushed the light material back onto her shoulders and then made light work of unbuttoning her blue shirt. All the while, he continued his eager exploration of her mouth, her throat and the soft skin that stretched across her clavicle. When a short while later she pushed away from the refrigerator and pressed harder against him, he took the opportunity to pull her coat completely off her shoulders.

It was when she began to kiss his neck, that he found it almost impossible not to say her name. With every brush of her lips and slow calculated flick of her tongue, he wanted to tell her what she was doing to him, and how she made him feel. But he didn't. He didn't breathe a word.

Her lips and tongue continued to set his skin on fire and he clenched his fists tightly at his side as he allowed her to spin them round. When she backed him against the stainless steel, he lifted her hair away from her neck and began to taste her again. He pushed her blue shirt off her shoulders and reached round and pulled the bunched material down her back until she was free of it. He kissed along her clavicle and then held her waist as he placed open mouthed messy kisses between her breasts. Of their own volition, his hands smoothed up her sides and came to rest under her arms; he kissed hungrily the soft skin that spilled over the top of her black lace bra and then he lost his head completely and kissed her covered breasts. When she gasped in response, Booth removed his hands from her sides and gripped the lace straps and pulled them down her arms. He kissed the top of her breasts again and then kissed and licked lower, as she pulled her hands free of the black straps. He kissed lower still and eased the remainder of the lace down. He watched his own hands smooth across the soft skin of her full breasts and swallowed deeply as he ran his thumbs once over her hardening nipples. "You're beautiful." Was all he said, all he trusted himself to say, as he dropped to his knees and pulled her down with him.

She kneeled in front of him, bare from the waist up, and he wanted to confess all. He wanted to tell her that he loved her. He wanted to tell her that he wanted to take her to bed, that he wanted to make love to her – not fuck her senseless on her kitchen floor. She was special. He'd told her that. And she was. She was.

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

She was kissing him again and he touched her, he couldn't stop. He let her push him onto the floor and she stretched out over him. The whole weight of her body rested on top of him and he wanted to cry. She was finally real in his arms. She was solid, irrefutably tangible and present in his arms and as he smoothed his hands over her bare back he couldn't help holding her tighter to him. She resisted his embrace and pushed her hands against his chest, creating space – space he didn't want. He almost stopped it then...almost. But she started unbuttoning his shirt and her mouth followed her busy fingers and she kissed a line down to his belt buckle and he felt himself break. He trailed his hands down her back and onto her ass. He pushed her hard against him and then flipped them over.

He kissed her hungrily before tearing his mouth from hers and again tasting the soft skin between her breasts. His hands spread across her chest and he massaged her tenderly as he kissed lower. He felt her stomach tighten under his touch as he kissed a path all the way to the waistband of her black pants. He freed the button and slid down the zipper. She lifted off the floor and he pulled the material down to her knees, she managed to kick them off the rest of the way. He pressed against her again and kissed and nipped lightly at her neck. Then he shifted on top of her and kissed her firmly, passionately on the mouth as she let her legs fall apart and he settled against her. He couldn't help it. He ground against her and the moan that fell from both of their lips echoed in her otherwise quiet and still kitchen.

"I want you, Booth. I want you inside me." She mumbled into their kiss.

He trailed one hand down between their bodies and rested it against her hip, his fingers curled around the top of her underwear.

"Why do you want me, Bones?" His breathing was ragged and he heard the desperation he felt echo in his tone.

She didn't answer and when she lifted her hips and pushed against him, he didn't have the presence of mind to ask her again. Her mouth found his and for a while they got lost in the simple act of kissing each other without fear that they would soon stop. No one was going to come crashing in and interrupt them. No one was watching. They could kiss in secret...only it wasn't a secret anymore.

"I need you to be naked. Booth, take...take off..."

He did as he was told. He let her go for a brief moment as he took off his shirt. Then he kissed her neck, unable to resist tasting her again, as he kicked off his shoes and then let her help him unclip his belt and free himself of his pants. With only their underwear separating them, he sank down between her legs and picked up the rhythm of their kiss. The feeling of her so close to him was a kind of joyful torture, the likes of which he'd never known. He grasped her left leg and anchored it around his waist as he pressed harder against her, determined that if he was going to lose his mind that she would too.

"Why do you want me, Baby? Tell me why?"

"I...ah, I want you because...because...oh, Booth...don't stop."

Her underwear was cutting into his hand because he was gripping it so tight and he knew that if he gave in and she was naked before him he wouldn't be able to stop. And so he stalled. He gambled.

"Bones, tell me how you feel right now."

"I feel like this is too much but not enough at the same time. I feel...oh, I need you closer."

Instead he did the opposite. He pulled away and looked down at her before he leant in close again and whispered in her ear. "I love you. You own my heart."

"Don't... Booth, this is all I can give you." She said as she reached for him, and stopped him pulling away again.

"I don't believe that. I feel it in the way you touch me, in the way you kiss me. And so we're not going to spend the night together. Not this night, anyway."

"Why?" She said breathlessly as she smoothed her hands across the high ridges of his shoulders and then brought them together at the back of his neck.

"Tequila." He whispered as he brought his forehead to rest against hers. He saw the flash of recognition in her eyes and loved that she managed to smile back at him.

"You know, I've consumed more vodka than tequila tonight?"

"Okay, so we're stopping this because of vodka."

"I don't want to stop. I want this. I want you."

"And I want you...I think that's more that obvious by now. But, I want more than your body. I want your heart."

He really, really didn't want to, but he reached for her hands and released them from around his neck. He rolled off her and lay on the floor beside her.

"You called me "Baby" again." She said several seconds later and out of nowhere, and he couldn't help but smile.

"Sorry. I guess I like calling you that and it just popped out."

"Like meatloaf." She said as he stared at the ceiling.

"Huh? Okay, you've lost me there, Bones."

"You know, like when I told Andrew your meatloaf story – it just popped out."

"Okay...now I get it. Yes, like that. You know, you didn't pull me up on it."

"No. I didn't. I have to admit, I found it quite arousing to hear you call me that."

"You did, huh? Well, now I'm just gonna have to call you "Baby" all the time."

"No, you don't. Just when we're kissing or when we're naked."

"So, it's all about the context." He grinned, marvelling at how relaxed he felt as they lay side by side, mostly naked, on her kitchen floor. The fact that she'd just told him that he might have a chance to kiss her and get naked with her again definitely didn't pass him by.

"Context is everything, Booth."

He felt her much smaller fingers thread through his own and he felt like his heart was going to burst right out of his chest. She wasn't going to run.

"I love you, Bones."

"I know you do."

It was enough just to hear her say that she finally believed him. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the feeling of her hand in his own. When next she scooted closer to him and lay on her side against him, he almost believed that he was in fact dreaming. But he realised, as her arm smoothed across stomach, his dreams never felt this good.

"I...I just need time, Booth." She breathed against his shoulder.

"Do you need time and space?" He asked, turning to look at her.

"No. Just time." She smiled and leaned over to kiss him softly on his cheek.

* * *

_**AN: This very long chapter almost did me in. In the end, I threw in what felt right and let it flow from there. I was ably assisted by Angela, who enabled me to show what Brennan might be thinking and I also 'borrowed' a line or two from the show (bonus points for those of you that spot them).**_

_**Oh, and I want to give a shout out to **__**Stephaniew**__** here – the wonderful quote by Blaise Pascal (**__**"The heart has its reasons that reason knows nothing of.") which **__**is spoken by Brennan part way through her conversation with Angela only caught my attention because it was used in one of her stories. She kindly told me I could pinch it.**_

_**So, we've maybe three more chapters to go...hands up who votes for a happy ending? **_


	22. The Dream

_**AN: Thanks everyone for reading and for reviewing. You're the best. **_

_**I'm going to try something different here – for the first time I'm going to put some thoughts into Brennan's head. I just couldn't write this next chapter without doing so. Hope I've managed to do her justice. **_

_**So, we're counting down to the end of this story...but I haven't forgotten about the Jackrabbit case. Nope. Read on to find out more...**_

_**Disclaimer: Don't own 'em...sing it with me.**_

_**

* * *

**_

_**The Dream - Edna St. Vincent Millay**_

_Love, if I weep it will not matter,  
And if you laugh I shall not care;  
Foolish am I to think about it,  
But it is good to feel you there._

_Love, in my sleep I dreamed of waking,—  
White and awful the moonlight reached  
Over the floor, and somewhere, somewhere,  
There was a shutter loose,—it screeched!_

_Swung in the wind,—and no wind blowing!—  
I was afraid, and turned to you,  
Put out my hand to you for comfort,—  
And you were gone! Cold, cold as dew,_

_Under my hand the moonlight lay!  
Love, if you laugh I shall not care,  
But if I weep it will not matter,—  
Ah, it is good to feel you there!_

_

* * *

_

Booth had finally left Brennan's apartment just after 3 a.m. It was now coming up on 8 a.m. and he was making his way through heavy rush hour traffic on his way out of D.C. He'd managed to get maybe three hours of sleep, but really, he didn't care. The lack of sleep didn't register, nor did the beginnings of a headache that tried its best to nudge its way into his consciousness. He felt lighter, happy and hopeful. Thirty minutes later, he flipped his indicator on and edged the dark blue Ford sedan into the right hand lane; shortly before he slowed down to make his turn.

It had been raining on and off for the past couple of hours and he reflected, as he leant forward to survey the grey sky through the windscreen, the bad weather was going to last the day. He continued on the narrower and much quieter road until he came to a crossroads. He looked left then right as he kept the car rolling slowly and finally he hit the brake and consulted the map he'd hastily drawn earlier that morning.

* * *

Charlie had called him at home just as his sleep had started to deepen into something approaching restful oblivion, and told him that Ben Nightingale had given them the slip but had been spotted half an hour earlier at a gas station just outside Leesburg, Virginia. The FBI had been keeping tabs on Nightingale, and Booth, although not pegging him as their killer, still believed that there was something off about the guy. That maybe he hadn't told them all he knew.

"Did he actually give our guys the slip, or was it accidental?" He held his breath as he'd waited for an answer.

"He purposefully evaded our surveillance. He had to know we were watching him, right? And so yesterday evening he walked into the Pentagon City mall via the South Hayes Street entrance and never came out again. Our guys eventually followed him in and searched every store, every bathroom, but he was gone. We pulled all the CCTV footage and it's like he disappeared. No one matching his description came out and the last of the recordings taken in the mall show him heading into men's bathroom on the second floor. He couldn't have left by the window in the bathroom because: a) its too small and; b) the drop would have killed him.

"So, he disguised himself and left, right?"

"That's the only theory that makes sense, which means..."

"It means he knew we were watching and that wherever he's headed, he doesn't want us to follow."

"Okay, so take down these directions to the gas station. Some agents will meet you there."

Booth swung his legs out from under the bedclothes and reached for the pad and pen he always kept by the telephone on his nightstand. Minutes later he was dressed and his cheeks felt cold from the water he'd splashed on his face to wake himself up. He didn't stop for a coffee or anything to eat. He was out the door and racing towards his car just as the rain began to fall more heavily.

* * *

He looked at the map and then turned it upside down so that it made some kind of sense. He jumped on the gas again and headed right. As he increased his speed, he glanced up again and noticed that the sky looked almost black in places. He shuddered for no reason and turned on the heater despite the fact that it wasn't by any objective standard, cold. He kept his foot to the floor as the green fields raised high with burgeoning crops seemed to close in around the car. He had the sense he was driving through a tunnel despite the open air all around him. He thought about Bones and he felt the strong urge to turn back, to just hit the brake and spin the shitheap of a car around and drive as fast as he could in the opposite direction. Then he thought about O'Hanlon and Rios and his foot remained on the pedal and propelled him towards whatever awaited him at the end of the seemingly endless road.

He finally spotted a gas station through the rapid swipe of his car's wipers. He slowed to a stop and reached across to the passenger seat to grab his black waterproof jacket. With "FBI" emblazoned in yellow high-visibility letters across his shoulders, he broke into a run as soon as he slammed shut the car door. He ran for the cover of the small store attached to the garage. The place was deserted apart from the cashier who looked like he needed to sleep even more than Booth did.

"Hey, man, you seen any cops round here?"

"Nah. Just you, bud."

"Fuck." He swore out loud and reached for the damp folded square of paper he'd stuffed into the pocket of his jeans. "Is this Tanners Gas Station?" He smoothed the map out on the counter and noticed that the blue ink had bled from within its original lines - it was lost cause, he'd have to work off verbal directions.

"Nope. Tanners is that-a-way." The too thin dark haired man said as he gestured with his thumb, indicating that Booth had indeed driven in the wrong direction. "You're about six or so miles east of where you need to be."

"Great. Look, I'm gonna fill up while I'm here." He reached into his back pocket for his wallet and took out 20 dollars and slapped it down on the wooden counter. He didn't wait for a receipt, he'd stump up the gas money this time, after all it was his own damn fault he'd driven miles in the wrong direction.

He was watching the dollars tick by on the pump machine as he held the nozzle steady, when he heard the sound of a vehicle pulling in behind him. He didn't turn around. $14...$15...$16, he sighed and tried not to think about how much time he'd cost them. The longer he took, the more distance the jerk was able to put between them. $17...$18...he glanced at the passenger side window and felt a cold shiver of dread reach up from between his shoulders and fizz around the base of his neck as he observed the white van reflected there. It was parked directly behind him. Then he saw Ben Nightingale a foot or so to his left and knew he wouldn't be able to turn and reach for his gun in time. He thought briefly about spraying him in the face with fuel but as soon as the thought sparked in his mind a searing pain exploded in his head. His last thought before he was lost to the blackness was that wearing a jacket announcing that you were fucking FBI to the world was really not the best idea, given that he out there trying to track down a killer.

Today it might just be the last dumb thing he did.

* * *

The Jeffersonian Institute:

"You're uncharacteristically late this morning, Dr. Brennan." Cam said as she watched the other woman race up the steps of the forensics platform."

"I'm sorry."

"No. Don't apologise. I wasn't admonishing you; I'm just surprised is all."

"I overslept. I had the most terrible nightmare...and..."

"Dr. Brennan, are you feeling okay?" Cam said with concern.

"Yes. Yes, of course. It was just one of those dreams that stay with you. You know the type that takes you a while to shake off."

"Yeah, I know. Hate them. Why don't you take a minute, this guy can wait till later." Cam gestured towards the disarticulated skeleton on the polished steel examination table. "After all, he's likely to be somewhere in the region of four hundred years old."

"Every person is equally important. Four hundred years ago someone cared about this man. We should care too."

"I understand that, and I'm with you, but the point I'm making is that taking 10 minutes out to grab a coffee and breathe for a moment won't make any difference to him now."

"I see your logic."

"Come on, I need a coffee too."

Cam followed Brennan down the steps and then they headed upstairs to the landing and the break out area, where the smell of freshly brewed coffee was waiting for them. She poured Brennan a large mug of coffee before pouring one for herself. Neither woman took sugar in their coffee. Everyone else on the team did, Booth, too. In fact, Cam thought, Booth took at least three spoonfuls in his, no matter the size of the mug. Just then, as the vision of Booth smiling into his coffee mug floated in her mind, she felt a cold sensation rise from the pit of her stomach and trickle into her chest.

"So, what was your dream about?" She said as she settled on the orange sofa next to Brennan and tried to ignore the unpleasant feeling.

"It was disjointed, fragmented in the way that dreams often are. I was trapped in a room with white walls and Booth was trapped somewhere close by. I didn't see him or even speak to him but I knew he was close. I was wounded but I couldn't work out where I was hurt. I knew from the amount of blood I'd lost that I was going to die, and soon. I kept hoping and kept pleading with whoever had taken us to let us go free. But nobody came. Nobody answered. Then I heard two shots ring out...that's when I woke up."

"Well, that sounds like one hell of a nightmare." Cam took a chance and rested her hand against Brennan's shoulder. She wanted to offer comfort; she wanted to be a friend, because 'friends' is what they had become, despite the odds and their respective competitive natures. They were more alike than they were different and maybe that was why things were so difficult between them at first. Over time, they had realised that they weren't competing with each other; they were competing against the stereotype, against the deeply entrenched belief that a woman couldn't do their job as well as a man. That same belief that sometimes still pulled Cam up short – that belief that a woman couldn't work with death and still somehow retain her femininity, her professionalism and her calm. And yet 'calm' is what they both did best. And then there was Booth. That had made things difficult even before Cam had really understood why. But now, as she watched Brennan struggling to remain in control, she physically felt for the other woman.

"Maybe you should go home? I can cover the lab work today...not your stuff, of course, but I can keep us ticking over."

"Thanks, Cam, but I'll be fine. It was just a dream. I'm being silly and over-emotional. I'll shake it off in moment. The coffee is helping...and you, you're helping."

Later, when their mugs were empty, Cam tried to shrug off the uneasy feeling that had settled over her. And right up until the point where everything went to hell, she mostly succeeded.

* * *

Booth came to. He was lying on his side, his feet resting against a white wall. He had no idea how much time had passed since Nightingale had bashed him over the head. His watch was damaged beyond repair and as he looked around the room he found himself in, he realised with a sinking heart that it had no windows, and so for all he knew he'd been out for hours, maybe even a whole day.

The empty room was lit by a single bulb hanging from a tangle of white electrical flex which was fixed with black tape to the ceiling and then travelled down the length of one wall. It was a rush job, the wiring was makeshift at best. Booth followed the thick length of flex with his eyes and realised that the on/off switch must be located outside the room.

He wondered if O'Hanlon was close by. He didn't want to think it, but as he got to his knees and scanned the dusty concrete floor for evidence of blood, he wondered if this is where O'Hanlon had died. He knew that the chances of finding the kid still alive were slim. Rios wasn't spared and so why should another cop matter? Why should _he_ matter? Maybe he would die in the same way. Because Booth had no doubt at all that he was going to die. It was just a question of when.

* * *

The Jeffersonian Institute:

Brennan had finished her examination of the four hundred year old John Doe. He would be processed and removed from Limbo. She pulled off her latex gloves and tossed them away. She stood for a moment, head down, seemingly lost in thought before she took a deep breath and left the platform and headed to her office.

Angela had been watching her friend from outside her own office and she was worried about her. More worried than she had been the previous evening. Then she realised that she was more worried than she could remember feeling for ages. She suddenly had the crushing sense that something terrible had happened to Hodgins and she rushed back into her office and called his cell from her desk phone. She was beyond relieved when he picked up after the first ring.

"Hey, Angie. Are we still on for dinner tonight?"

"Yeah. Of course." She struggled to breathe normally as she felt her heart racing in her chest.

"Cool. I thought maybe you were calling to cancel. I know my Aunt can be a little um...challenging, but she loves you, you know."

"I know. So, how's the sightseeing going? Have you guy's got around to the Lincoln Memorial yet?"

"We're headed there now. It's slow going, obviously, but she's having a ball. And she's still raving about _your _chocolate cake."

Angela laughed lightly and tried not to feel too guilty about the fact that she had left the house at 6 a.m. that morning to race across town to "Ellis's Patisserie" on K. Street. When Hodgins arrived back from the airport, arm in arm with his aunt, Angela, safe in the knowledge that a moist and perfectly cooked chocolate cake was chilling in the refrigerator, kissed the elderly woman on the cheek and welcomed her into their home. Hodgins was in on it, of course. But she knew he wouldn't tell.

Half an hour later the feeling hadn't passed, and talking to Hodgins had done nothing to alleviate the sense that something terrible was going to happen. She wasn't scared for him, she knew that now. She was scared about something she couldn't pin down. She swallowed deeply and leant against the edge of her desk, trying to steady herself.

Then she went in search of Brennan.

* * *

Booth was scrutinising, assessing and mentally processing every detail he could discern about his environment. As his eyes adjusted to the low level lighting that still had managed to drive spears of pain through his head, he noticed a thin sliver of brighter light shinning from underneath the crudely reinforced wooden door, but he couldn't tell if it was artificial or if it was natural daylight.

He crawled on his knees towards the door and then laid down, his cheek pressed to the bottom of the wood. He didn't notice or even sense any motion beyond the door, and all he could hear was silence. He sniffed deeply but all he could smell was dust and damp and his own sweat. He knew he was disorientated and that's just how Nightingale and whoever the hell was really pulling the strings wanted him.

They had taken his jacket, his guns, his wallet and his cell phone. He had no means to defend himself if they burst through the door with a gun or a knife, and for the first time since regaining consciousness, he couldn't stop the fear that he kept bound tight in the pit of his stomach from uncurling and poisoning him from the inside.

* * *

The Jeffersonian Institute:

Angela found Brennan stretched out on the couch in her office. She was just turning to leave, when Brennan stirred and noticed her in the doorway.

"You okay, Sweetie?"

"Yes. Just tired is all."

"I'll go and let you get some rest."

"No. I'm okay. Come in."

"Hmm. So I take it that Booth was waiting for you when you got home last night?"

"Yes. He was. But it's not what you think. We didn't sleep together."

"But there was tongue action, right? Please tell me there was?"

"You're incorrigible. Yes. _Yes_, there was definite tongue action."

"And?"

"And, what?"

"Are you together?"

"It's complicated." Brennan sighed as she sat up and swung her legs to the side, offering Angela a place to sit.

"Oh, Bren, please tell me you two didn't doing something totally lame and, YES, I'm gonna say it, totally STUPID, and agree to stay friends, partners, whatever!" She said sitting down heavily on the sofa.

"We didn't agree anything, not really. He told me that he loved me again and I told him that I believed him."

"Whoa! You've kept that under your hat all morning! How could you do that to me?"

"Because it's new, and I don't know what I'm doing. I'm still trying to work out how we might become more than what we are. I told him that I need time."

"Oh my God, this is really gonna happen! Wait till I tell Jack, he'll go nuts."

"Ange, I _said_ I need time. Booth understands that and so I don't want my private life to become the subject of idle gossip around the lab."

"It's not idle gossip." Angela pouted. "It's me telling my husband that my best friend finally gets to be happy, truly happy. I'm not going to spread it around that you and Booth locked lips, though Lord knows I want to shout it from the rooftops."

"Why do you care so much? I mean, about Booth and me." Brennan said smiling broadly, her eyes reflecting her genuine confusion.

"Because, Sweetie, I love you. I've watched you over the years and part of me is in awe of you and what you've achieved, what you're capable of, but there's another part of me that's scared for you, sad for you. And as the years tick by and I see you with Booth, that part of me that worries that you're going to miss out on the chance to truly be happy gets harder to ignore." She reached for Brennan's hands and held them in her own.

"You are capable of great love, perhaps more than any of us. You care about every person down in Limbo; you work through the night to identify murder victims so that they can at least be buried with a name. You love me better than any friend I've ever had. If you could just see _you_ as I do, you'd know. Booth sees it. He see you as you are, and I bet if you ask him he'll tell you that your heart is as big as anyone's, maybe bigger. He sees the truth of you and that's all you've ever wanted."

"All I know is how to run, Angela. And I...I've tried to run, but I can't run far enough away. But I know now that running is scarier than staying. At the airport...when he walked away from me, I felt like I was going to collapse, like I couldn't breathe. What am I going to do?"

Angela squeezed her friend's hands in her own and smiled. "You're going to stay here with me and the people who love you andjust take a breath. Let life carry you along for a while without thinking about how or why you end up where you end up. And love him and let him love you. Everything else will work itself out, I promise."

"Is it ever really as easy as that?"

"It is if you let be. Look at my life? I pushed Hodgins away for the longest time before I finally realised that he was the only thing I've ever wanted, the only thing I truly needed. All the art in the world isn't as beautiful to me as he is, and when I let myself fall, when I took that leap of faith, I knew in an instant that I was going to be happy."

"I really am so pleased for you, Ange. I love you...Hodgins, too. In fact I told him as much."

"Yeah, he might have mentioned something about that. So...okay, wow! This is new. But I'm not gonna make a big deal out of what you said. Crap, I'm making a big deal of it, aren't I? I can see the look of dread on your face...okay, I'm just gonna say that I love you too, Sweetie."

She bumped shoulders with Brennan and looked down at their entwined hands. Sometimes life was good. Really good.

**And then it was bad. Then it was cruel and inexplicable. **

Out the corner of her eye Angela watched Cam racing towards them. She felt Brennan's grip tighten and that's when she knew that this was going to hurt, that whatever Cam was rushing to tell them was going to knock them down and maybe that this time they wouldn't get up.

"Dr. Brennan, its Booth. He's missing...he was taken." Cam said breathlessly as she tried to hold herself together. The awful tension that she had felt clawing at her all morning spread throughout her entire body. As she spoke the words out loud all she could see was Booth's pale and bruised face, his eyes staring into nothingness. And all she could think was that he should be smiling. He had the best smile.

"When?" Was all Brennan said as she let go of Angela's hands and stood up.

"About two hours ago. He was last seen at "Bryson's Gas Station", outside Leesburg."

Angela stood up but then found she couldn't move. Her feet simply wouldn't work, and so she watched Brennan race through the door and tear across the lab towards the exit, but she couldn't follow.

"Dr. Brennan, the FBI are..." Cam shouted out to Brennan's retreating form, quickly realising that nothing was going to stop the other woman from leaving. She then turned to Angela and gripped her by the shoulders. "We need Hodgins back here now. Can you see to that?"

"Yes. I'll call him...he...he'll come straight here." But Angela didn't move. She was slowly realising with horror that the fear she felt earlier that morning was because of Booth. She had relaxed when she should have held onto the feeling and tried to work out what it meant.

"Angela! Call him, NOW." Cam shouted into her face and she focused again.

With shaking hands she hit "1" on her speed dial as Cam raced out of Brennan's office and in the direction of her own. Angela tried to keep from crying as she waited for Hodgins to pick up. The four rings it took for him to answer seemed like an age and she was about to give up and race over to the Lincoln Memorial to find him when she heard his voice on the line.

"Miss me, huh?"

"Jack, something's happened...we need you back here."

"What? Are you okay, and Dr.B, Cam...?"

"It's Booth, he's been kidnapped."

"Shit. I'm there. Stay put, okay? I mean it. You wait for me to get to you, Angie." She hung up and finally released the sob that had been prickling and burning at the base of her throat.

* * *

Booth was unbelievably thirsty. The need to drink something overrode the pain in his head and the nagging ache in his back. He shifted away from the door and half sat up, resting his shoulders against the white wall. He managed to fight the urge to vomit, knowing that if he did he would dehydrate faster.

He breathed in deeply and tried like hell to think of a way to get out of the room. Maybe he didn't need to fear a bullet or a blade ending his life, maybe they were just going to leave him there to rot. He thought again about trying to bust down the door but he knew it would get him nowhere. Thick wooden slats had been braced across its width and he had no doubt that similar reinforcements were nailed tight on the other side. This room was designed to keep someone from getting out. And it would stop him getting out.

He heaved again and felt hot bile surge up into the back of his throat. He tried to ignore the sour taste that coated the inside of his mouth. He tried to think about anything else apart from the urge to empty his stomach onto the dusty floor.

He looked around again at the gleaming white painted walls. The yellow muted light that shone from the single bulb hanging from the ceiling seemed to bounce off them and hit him straight between the eyes. So he closed them. And he kept on breathing and thinking.

* * *

Temperance Brennan found that she could only think in short sentences. _I have to find him. He has to be okay. He can't leave me now. Not now. _

She steered the Prius in and out of slow moving traffic and felt like screaming when a bus pulled into the lane in front of her. Twenty three minutes had passed since Cam had told her that he was missing...taken, and she still hadn't made it onto the Interstate. She veered into the lane next to hers and hit the gas, not fully thinking through the fact that at any time a vehicle travelling in the opposite direction could come out of nowhere and really make things difficult. She overtook the bus and two other cars before a red truck appeared twenty or so metres in front of her, the driver blasting the horn as he hurtled towards her. Brennan turned the steering wheel sharply and felt the front left tyre bounce across the sheet of rainwater that covered the tarmac, she gripped the wheel tight and re-entered her lane. A few minutes later, she saw the sign for the Interstate dead ahead and sped up.

She reached for her cell phone which was lying on the passenger seat and dialled Cam's office number. Once she'd mentally noted the directions for the gas station, she ended the call, telling Cam before she did so that she estimated that she was perhaps thirty minutes from there. She turned on the car's inbuilt satellite navigation system and spoke clearly the address she needed. Exactly thirty two minutes later, she arrived.

The forecourt was jammed with police cars and from what she could see as she ran towards the store, the rain lashing at her back, at least four SWAT vans. The sight of the bulky black vans made her stomach turn because she knew that SWAT agents were only called out in the case of high-risk events, such as hostage and barricade situations. Did that mean that they had located Booth? She was intercepted by numerous cops and agents as she tried to push her way through to the store, and each time she explained who she was and flashed her ID at them. But when she reached the entrance, she was prevented from going any further.

"I'm sorry, M'am, but police personnel only are allowed into the store."

Brennan buried her frustration and gave the young, blond haired muscle-bound police officer the same speech. "I'm Dr. Brennan. I work with the FBI. Agent Booth is my partner. You have to let me though."

"No. I don't. I have strict orders not to let anyone not wearing a badge through those doors. Now, if you'll step aside, please – you're blocking the exit."

"I will _not _step aside. I am Dr. Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian Institute. I am contracted to the FBI to help indentify murder victims. Special Agent Seeley Booth is my partner, he's been my partner for 5 years, and I can help you find him. I have people that _will _help you find him. Now, if you don't let me inside, I'll have no choice but to call Deputy Director Hacker and tell him that you're being obstructive and plain stupid."

"M'am, there's really no need for that tone. Now I understand that you're upset but I have orders..."

"I'm warning you, if you don't step aside, I'll make you."

Just as the young police officer was sizing up the potential threat she posed, and really, he'd take his chances, a voice behind him brought him up short.

"Temperance! They didn't tell me you were here. Come on through."

"Andrew, I'm so pleased you're here. Have you found Booth?"

The police officer duly stepped aside and let Brennan into the store. So, she was on first name terms with the boss? He thanked his lucky stars that he hadn't cuffed her.

It was equally busy inside the store. Brennan quickly looked around as she followed Hacker over to the cash register.

"We've been unable to locate Agent Booth. His car is outside. It appears that he was filling up when he was overpowered. The cashier didn't see it happen but he says that Booth paid for twenty dollars worth of gas and went outside to fill up. When the digital read next to the cash register showed that fifty dollars worth of fuel had been taken and the amount was still increasing, he went to check it out. He said that Booth had come to the wrong gas station, and we can confirm this. Our guys were about six miles west of here waiting for him.

"He...he was overpowered?"

"We found some blood. Not much, next to the front passenger tyre."

"And it's Booth's?"

"We don't know that for sure, but that's what we're going with."

Brennan wanted to tell him not to jump to conclusions and that the evidence would have the bear this out but she knew the blood was Booth's. He had to have been overpowered or he'd be there now, or at least he would have called in and told them where he was. What wasn't clear was if his abduction was linked to the jackrabbit case, and to Ben Nightingale, who Brennan knew from Cam had been spotted along that same stretch of road, or if he was taken by some random lunatic who maybe hated law enforcement. She heard Booth's voice in her head telling her to go with her gut.

"What else do we know?" She said weakly, just the thought of his deep comforting voice almost made her break down there and then. _"It's a guy hug. Take it." "She's never going to get the better of you, know that."_ _"I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. I got you. I've got you, baby." _

"Not much. The cashier told us that Booth left this map on the counter."

"What about tyre tread marks? They didn't leave on foot, right?" She questioned as she looked at the blurred inky drawing Hacker held out to her. She recognised Booth's small and neat handwriting spelling out the name of the gas station – the right one. The one he should have gone to.

"Understandably, the forecourt is full of impression marks but we've found a couple of sets of prints which we're looking into. Both show wide tyre marks, probably from a small truck or a van. One set is more pronounced than the other, indicating that the driver left in a hurry – it's adjacent to the pump which Booth was using and the marks lead off onto the road, heading east."

"I need the data to go to Dr. Hodgins at the Jeffersonian."

"Our techs are working on it now. We should know the brand of tyre shortly and..."

"Hodgins can look for defects and wear on the tyre. He can also analyse any gravel or other particulates that remain in the impression."

"Temperance, our forensics guys are doing that very thing now."

"Fine, let them do that. But I want Hodgins to look everything over. He's better than your tech guys, Andrew." She didn't attempt to moderate her tone and didn't even care when Hacker looked at her with concern, maybe pity.

"Okay...okay, I'll send the info over to him. Look, we'll find Booth. Let us do our jobs, okay?"

"I'm going to head east. You can reach me on my cell if you need me."

"You're leaving?"

"Yes, of course."

"But you have no idea where he is, and, Temperance, I don't want to have to worry about you too. There could be a lunatic out there picking off cops and the last thing you should be doing is heading into the unknown on your own."

"I can't wait around here doing nothing, Andrew. I just _can't_. I need to be doing something, anything, to find him. Besides, I'm not a cop."

"I don't imagine our kidnapper or kidnappers will care too much for the distinction. You're investigating his disappearance - that means to all intents and purposes you're law enforcement. That makes you a target. You can't go. I'm sorry."

"Booth is out there somewhere and he needs my help. I...I'm his partner, I can't just hang back and trust that someone else will..."

"If Agent Booth were here he'd tell you to stay put and let us do our job."

"You don't _understand_...we save each other. When all is said and done, if not for him I would be dead, many times over. And I've saved him. It's what we do, and I _swear_, Andrew, if you try and stop me, I'll _never_ forgive you."

"I have a duty of care toward you. I _can't _ignore that."

"Then don't. Turn your head, lose sight of me...and let me go. _Please_, Andrew. I'll take the consequences. I _have_ to do this."

"Damn it, Temperance, I _can't _do that."

Brennan backed away, keeping her eyes fixed on his. When she saw Charlie approaching, she took another step back.

"Dr. Brennan." His tired and worried face couldn't quite fix itself into a smile but Brennan appreciated the effort.

"Charlie, you _have_ to find him." She felt and heard her voice crack as she edged backwards.

"We will. Don't worry, we'll find him." The agent turned to Hacker and handed him a piece of paper. "The cashier's full statement, Sir. There's nothing we didn't pick up before apart from the fact that the guy now reckons that when he went out to the pump he could smell what he thought was fish."

"Fish?" Hacker said taking the sheet of paper and reading the statement through quickly.

"Yep. Maybe the truck or van the asshole was driving was used to transport fish? I've ordered a trace on companies delivering fish or seafood in the area, or along this route. But, I dunno, the guy is kinda odd, and from the look of him, under the influence of a narcotic of some kind, likely weed."

Brennan kept on moving backwards and just before she turned to make a run for it, Hacker looked up. She held his stare for only a moment before she turned her back on the two men and walked as fast as she could to the exit. With every heartbeat that pounded in her chest she expected Hacker to call her back but he didn't, and one day either she or Booth, hopefully both of them, would thank him for that.

She pushed her way through the crowd of people and climbed back inside her car. She signalled right and pulled away quickly. She was stopped twice more at the temporary road blocks the FBI had set up on the approach into the town of Leesburg, but each time when the stationed officer radioed of her presence to his superior, she was waved through. Both times she said a silent thank you to Hacker.

* * *

_He watched in disbelief as she knelt down in front of him. She was pale and shivering and each time he reached out to touch her cheek, to try and warm her, his hands slipped inside her face and came out the other side of her head. He had tried so many times to touch, to help her. And so he stared into her milky blue eyes, silently begging her to tell him how he could make her real. _

_She shifted closer to him and her cold breath fell upon his neck as she whispered "If I own your heart, why can't you save me?"_

_Then the blood came, just as he knew it would. He looked down and felt the tears falling from his eyes as the hands she held out to him quickly became spattered with red. He didn't yell or scream out this time that he could be what she needed him to be. He had failed. He would always fail. She was always going to die._

"_I'm sorry, Bones. I'm so, so sorry..."_

Booth awoke with a jump, his heart pounding erratically in his chest, and this time he couldn't stop from vomiting. He pushed up away from the wall and managed to make onto all fours as the first of a series of violent heaves twisted and beat his stomach from the inside. He was sick until there was nothing left.

When finally he could breathe again, he rolled onto his side, his knees raised to his chest, and he started to pray.

* * *

Brennan looked into her rear-view mirror as she left the last road block behind. The yellow intermittent emergency lights dulled after a few seconds as she continued at speed towards the small Virginian town. The steady rain caught by the increasingly violent wind flashed hard against the rear windscreen, causing her to jump in her seat. The sound of the drops falling onto the roof of the car was so loud that she wasn't sure if Hodgins had heard her when she told him to expect the tyre track evidence.

"The FBI is sending it over now...check your email." She shouted against the noise of the rain and wind.

"Okay. Look, Brennan, maybe you should come back here. You shouldn't be out there alone."

"There's something else. The witness said he could smell fish when he went out to the pump Booth had been using."

"Huh? What dump? The witness was at a dump?"

"NO. The witness said he could smell FISH...FISH, Hodgins! Did you get that?"

"I heard "fish"."

"YES. The odour was present near to where Booth was taken."

"I have no idea what that could mean but I'll look into..."

The signal was lost and she threw the cell phone onto the passenger seat in disgust. At least she got the information to Hodgins. They had something to go on, however random. She turned her headlamps to the high beam setting and moved nearer to the centreline, to avoid the build up of water that threatened to drag her into the line of trees that followed the length of the road.

She wasn't aware she was crying until her cheeks started to itch, the hot tears streamed down and she swiped at them while trying to keep the car steady. She breathed in a lungful of air and tried in vain to stop crying. She needed to focus, not sit there blubbering. Crying wouldn't get her anywhere. It wouldn't help Booth. She needed to be professional, rational, logical and herself.

But, she realised, as she felt a sob strike at her throat, she wasn't _herself_. She wasn't fighting to save a partner, a friend...she was fighting to save the man she loved. She was out there desperately trying to save their future. Because she had no doubt that if he was lost forever that she would be too.

* * *

_**AN: So, to those of you who voted for a happy ending, don't give up. Brennan is now very much aware of how she feels about Booth. And so really all that's standing in the way of their changed relationship is a psycho serial killer! GULP...**_

_**I'm off camping for a week but wanted to leave you with this update before I left. I may be able to pick up a wireless signal at some point, and you can be sure that I'll be working on this story while under canvas. What else am I gonna do? I have a mouthful of stitches and am under strict instruction from my Doctor not to let alcohol pass my lips. Yep...party on! At least here in the UK we can rely on good weather...erm...well maybe not! ;)**_

_**Reviews would be great, if you have time. **__**Thanks**__** so much for reading. **_


	23. Darkness and Light

_**I want to alert you that this chapter contains violence. Also, in place of a poem, I've used one of my most favourite quotes. It seemed to fit.**_

_**In this chapter I flick back between Booth and Brennan's POV – hope it all reads okay.**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Bones, but you knew that already.**_

_**

* * *

**_

_"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."_

_**Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr**_

_**

* * *

**_

Brennan parked next to the hexagonal red brick town hall building and flipped open her cell phone. She dialled Hodgins's number but when it dropped back to voicemail, she tried the desk phone in Angela's office. Her friend, after noticing the familiar number on the digital display, picked up almost immediately.

"Bren, where are you?"

"Leesburg, at the Town Hall. Is Hodgins with you?"

"Yeah. He's right here."

Brennan wedged the small phone between her neck and shoulder and grabbed a pen and notepad from inside her bag.

"Dr. Brennan, I analysed the tyre tread particulates and aside from the rubberized deposits I found a mixture of common crushed stone and trace amounts of Van Fleet and Brownell Hybrids."

"I don't know what that means."

"They're roses, fairly uncommon ones, actually."

"Please tell me you found something else?" She said sighing as suddenly the enormity of the task that lay ahead became all too obvious.

"You're in Leesburg, right?"

"Yes."

"Yesterday, at Ida Lee Park in the centre of town, a competition was held at the community garden plots - a competition to judge the best rare roses."

"What's the address?"

Hodgins reeled off the address and paused as suddenly another thought occurred to him. "There's something else. The fishy smell the cashier mentioned: certain organic fertilizers use fish emulsion. It's produced from the fluid remains of fish and then processed...it can smell pretty ripe. That would also fit with the garden plots."

"Great work. I'm hanging up. I'll call in again later."

Brennan pulled up outside the main entrance to the park and climbed out of her car as a white flash of lighting illuminated the deep grey swirling sky. She rushed to the park's notice board to consult the map of the gardens and scanned the key to the left of the image until she located the community garden plots. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her until she slowed to a breathless stop at the entrance to the gardens. No one was in sight, and she had no clue what to do next. Booth would know. But then again he was trained for this, and he had his gut to rely on...what did she have? She had nothing, that's what - no gut instinct, no training...just multiple degrees in subjects that wouldn't help her once iota. She looked out onto the perfectly square plots, some of which had recently been tilled and staked and were devoid of any plants or flowers, and again felt a sob prickle at the base of her throat. Then she walked over to the plots which were planted and looked at the collection of roses and other flowers, which provided vivid colour in an otherwise barren and bland expanse. The rain continued to beat down on her head, and she realised with some measure of detachment that she was soaked through. She hadn't even put on her jacket when she left the car. She felt hopeless and more scared than ever.

"Miss, you're going to catch a cold if you don't get out of this rain."

She turned to face the owner of the voice. The man before her was elderly, maybe in his mid-seventies or eighties and he had a kind smile. She noticed that he wore a forest green parks uniform under his open bright yellow rain jacket.

"Here, come with me, we'll take shelter in the hut over there."

She followed him without saying a word. Once she was inside the wooden hut she began to shiver almost uncontrollably.

"So, what are you doing out here? You're not one of our gardeners, are you?"

"No. I'm...I'm looking for someone."

"And you thought they might be here?"

"I'm not sure. I work with the FBI and I'm looking for my partner. He was kidnapped earlier today and I..." Brennan could see that the man was sceptical of her story and she couldn't blame him – for all he knew she was a..._what did Booth call it...a "booney tune"...no that wasn't right_. The man looked at her kindly, but she was more adept at reading people now and she could tell from the way he frowned slightly that he was having a hard time believing any of the words that fell from her lips. But she persevered. "I'm looking for gardens planted with rare roses and which use organic fertilizer."

"All of our gardeners use organic fertilizer. It's one of our rules."

"What about fertilizer made up of fish emulsion?"

"Sure, some of the folks here use that."

"Which 'folks'? Do you have access to the list of persons registered for plots at the garden?"

"Yeah. We keep a list, it's on the computer."

"I need to see it."

"Um... sorry, but I can't do that, Miss. See, we keep some data protected information on there – you know, folk's home addresses and phone numbers...I can't pass that stuff out to just anyone."

She sensed his discomfort but she needed to keep pushing. She reached inside the pocket of her black dress pants and pulled out her cell phone. She dialled Hacker's number. When he picked up and immediately asked where she was and if she was okay, she felt guilty about making him worry about her. She confirmed that she was fine and explained where she was and why she needed access to the parks' records.

"Temperance, put the guy on."

She held out the phone to the man and told him that the voice he would hear belonged to the Deputy Director of the FBI. She sensed his continued reserve, his disbelief, but when, after a brief conversation with the other man he handed the phone back to her, his face a shade paler, she guessed that whatever Andrew had told him had done the trick.

"He'll give you whatever you need. Look, I'm going to send some agents over; they'll meet you at the parks office shortly. I want you to wait there for them, okay?"

"I can't wait if I find something in the records. I'll call in and..."

"Temperance, you are to stay put. Uh hum...that's me giving you an order." He said stumbling over the words.

"You can't just order me..."

"I can, and I just did. I should never have let you out of my sight the first time round."

"I don't have time to wait."

"Yes you do. You are _not_ a cop and I don't want you making things harder for us. I don't want to have to come looking for you as well as Agent Booth. I mean it. You are to stay put and wait for support."

"I really don't care for your tone, Andrew."

"That isn't my concern right now. Your safety is paramount. Now, please, please stay there until my agents get there."

"Fine." She said and hung up not giving him a chance to say any more. She knew she wasn't paying him the respect he deserved, and honestly, she couldn't imagine speaking to Director Cullen in that manner but her past romantic relationship with Andrew had blurred the boundary between personal and professional. She knew she was pushing him unfairly, but all she could see was Booth bound and bleeding waiting for her to find him. She felt desperate and out of control and couldn't care less if her attitude was less than professional.

"Let's go." She said to the elderly man and followed him out into the rain.

Minutes later she scanned the list of thirty four names and addresses for the second time and it quickly became clear that she didn't have a clue what she was looking for, or more precisely, who she was looking for. Andrew was right, she wasn't a cop, she didn't have the resources to investigate the three pages of names, and in any case, how would she know what to look for? She was so far out of her depth it was ridiculous. She sank down onto the orange plastic chair to the side of the desk and willed herself not to break down.

"Do the names mean anything to you?"

She looked up at the man she now knew as 'Harry' and shook her head. "No. They don't mean anything."

"I've been thinking about the fertilizer you mentioned and there are only maybe ten gardeners here who use it. I can circle their names if..."

"Yes. That would be very helpful, thank you. Do you mind if I use your computer to send an email?"

Brennan took the typed pages from him and logged onto her personal email account and sent the details of the eleven names to the Medico-Legal Lab at the Jeffersonian. She flagged the email as 'Important' and added a brief message to Cam telling her where she was and that she was okay and explained that the information she was sending also need to be routed to the FBI. Barely a minute later Cam emailed back informing her that they would examine the list straight away and that the information had also been passed to the FBI. Brennan logged out of her account and waited for Hacker's agents to arrive.

* * *

Booth ran his hand over the back of his head and down to the tender area near his neck. He was relieved to find that the wound had stopped bleeding. _Fucking Nightingale was gonna pay for clocking him. _He crawled over to the wall by the side of the door. He took deep breaths and tried to work out how he was going to get out of there. He figured he had two chances. First, that someone would work out where he was and rescue him, or second, that Nightingale and whomever he was involved with would come back to check on him and he could somehow overpower them. But considering the way he was feeling, he was hoping the first option would be the on that saved him.

By now the FBI would be looking for him - his captors had to know that. They would be jittery, scared, and therefore, unpredictable and very dangerous. If he wasn't rescued he knew he'd get only get one chance to secure his escape. If they opened the door and he couldn't get the better of them, they would kill him as soon as they got the opportunity. He needed to get up, try and clear his head and get his blood pumping. He needed to think about how he was going to try and take the first man through the door down quickly enough to give him the chance to take a crack at the second. He struggled to his feet and immediately had to rest his shoulder against the wall as the room spun wildly. He waited until the nausea passed and he felt steady enough to walk. He focused on the wall opposite and walked across the room, pausing only briefly before he walked back the other way. Step by step, he felt a little stronger, steadier.

He forced thoughts of her out of his head and instead thought of O'Hanlon and Rios, of his job, his training and his utter determination that he wasn't going to go down without a fight. _You're gonna make it, Seeley. These assholes don't know who they're fucking with._

_

* * *

_

Before she even made out the sound of raised voices, she noticed the flickering blue lights of the police cars as they tracked across the ceiling of the parks office. Brennan rushed back outside into the rain and almost collided with Charlie, who was headed at speed towards the wooden structure.

"Dr. Brennan, where's the list?"

"Here." She handed over the white pages and told him that Harry had narrowed down the list of names to eleven.

"I'll get these over to our intel people." He said turning his back on her and striding towards his car.

"I've already sent it to the Jeffersonian and Dr Saroyan has provided a copy to the FBI. They may already have the information." She said catching up to him.

"Okay. Lemme check. In the meantime, you can wait in my car – I'll be back with you in a minute."

Brennan climbed inside the gunmetal grey sedan and closed her eyes. The constant sound of the rain pummelling against the roof barely registered. They needed to find him. It was taking too long and who knows what he was going through. Just the thought of him hurting brought tears to her eyes.

"We have the list." Charlie said as he opened the driver-side door and climbed in next to her a few minutes later. "Nothing yet." He added, as she looked at him with undisguised hope.

"So what do we do now?" She asked, all the while knowing what his answer would be. But she had to ask, she had to fill the silence and try and block out the emptiness that was waiting to swallow her up. She knew it was rational not to think the worst – what was the point when the outcome wasn't known, but still, the possibility that he was already gone kept floating into her mind. She desperately tried to push those thoughts away. She had to believe that Booth had a chance or she wouldn't be able to take another breath.

"We wait." He finally answered as he looked out of the window. Outside the car the wind shook the trees and tore the green spring leaves from their branches before their time.

* * *

"It's not my fault...what choice did I have? The asshole was right in front of me, he could have made me at any time. I did what made sense."

"No. You panicked and brought this shit to my door. What the fuck do you suggest we do with him now?"

"We take care of him, what else?"

"Fine, but I don't want any part of it. It's your mess. You clean it up."

"It's your mess, too. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be here neck-deep in shit. Man, when the FBI pulled me and asked me if I was driving my van near that park, I knew, I fucking knew it was you they were looking for. What the fuck is wrong with you, Mike, why can't you get your rocks off like a normal person?"

"You don't know anything about that."

"I know you like to beat the crap outta little girls and women and..."

"Why don't you just shut the hell up and think about how we're going to get rid of him. The Feds will be looking for him, so how about you concentrate on that thought and keep your big fucking nose outta my business."

"Fine. But this is the last time I help you out."

"Just dispose of him like I did that other pig. And while you're at it, finish the other one. Then we'll talk."

"There's nothing to talk about. After this, I'm out. I don't wanna lay eyes on you again. You might be my brother but I can't stand to look at you, man. What you do to those women isn't natural...fuck, why the hell you gotta cut them up and do all that shit to them?"

"Half brother, get that right. Your slut mother was nothing to do with me."

Booth couldn't make out the rest of the conversation, as the two men walked past the door and, he guessed, went into another room somewhere nearby. If he lay with his ear to the bottom of the door he could make out the odd word that was shouted out, but mostly all he could pick up was a muffled, low intermittent hum. He got up off the floor and began to pace the room again. He didn't have much time. Nightingale, or maybe both of them, would be coming through that door and he needed to be alert, poised to strike and thinking clearly. A blow to the throat was probably the best option, if he could get that close. He started to perspire and felt the familiar churning in his stomach. He swallowed and his tongue felt dry and swollen in his mouth. He had to somehow gain an advantage – he needed just a moment of hesitation from his attacker and he would take it from there. But would he get that chance?

He had to...he _had_ to get that chance because she was counting on him. She was out there somewhere looking for him, fighting to get to him, and he owed it to her to give her the time she needed to find him. God, he needed to see her again. He wanted to hold her so close and never let her go. He needed to live. For her, for Parker and for the life they could share. He needed to live.

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

Then he heard footsteps approaching and he took a few long strides and flattened himself against the wall to the right of the door. He felt sweat break out across his forehead as he heard the lock on the other side of the door slide free. As soon as the door was opened a few inches, he crouched down low and waited. As he suspected, two shots were fired into the wood at chest height in anticipation that he would be hiding behind the door, which he was. The bullets blasted into the wall to his left, missing him completely. He groaned once and kneed the door hard. He stayed low and stayed focused. The smell of nitro-glycerine, sawdust, and graphite swirled in the air and he waited until the door opened a few inches more before he sprung to his feet and made his move.

* * *

Brennan tried to move her body into the fast, sharp turns Charlie made as they raced across town. She quickly gave up, realising that she couldn't hope to minimise the impact.

"That scientist of yours is a freaking genius."

"His IQ score would certainly indicate that." Brennan braced her hands on the dashboard in anticipation of the turn ahead.

"Okay, I figure we're maybe five minutes from the house, let's go through the procedure."

"I don't see that being necessary. I'm to stay in the vehicle. That's it, unless you've reconsidered?"

"No. I want you to hang back and only get out of the car if absolutely necessary."

"Fine." She said haughtily as she rattled and bounced around in her seat.

The rest of the journey passed in silence. Brennan looked out the passenger side window as the streets blurred and the rain pulsed relentlessly against the glass. Agent Burns was right she considered, yet again Dr. Hodgins had proven himself an invaluable member of the team. He had laid the groundwork which led to the FBI finding the link between one of the names on the list and the evidence the entomologist had discovered on the shirt worn by Maisy Novak, the killer's youngest victim. Michael James was forty two years old, married with two children and a plumber by profession. He lived and worked in Leesburg and among other things; the FBI was investigating whether he took on jobs that took him out of state. He was well known and liked in the town and two years before had been given an award for his services to the community for his work as a volunteer firefighter. When she'd told Hodgins the news he'd been positively humming with excitement, tension and something she easily recognised as relief. But her conversation with him was short lived as Angela wrestled the phone from him and ordered Brennan to be careful and to keep far out of the way of danger.

She jumped in her seat as Charlie started barking out orders over the car radio. "Okay, pull in here and we'll cover the remainder of the distance on foot. We don't wanna spook this guy. Back-up should be here in the next ten...until then, we're on our own. Burns, out."

Charlie stopped the car and turned to her. "I'll leave the radio channel open; I want you to call for help if you need to. You press this button here and tell the dispatcher that you're with me and that you need emergency assistance."

"I understand. Charlie...be careful."

"I'm always careful. Don't worry; this place will be crawling with cops in a few minutes."

Brennan released her seatbelt but she remained in the car as Charlie and two other agents ran down the tree lined residential street and then split up as they approached the unremarkable red brick house on the left. He ran awkwardly and she noticed an asymmetric abnormality in his gait. She couldn't recall a time when Charlie had joined her and Booth in the field. But he'd had training in combative techniques, surely? Besides, the two other agents appeared physically strong and fit.

For the second time that day she heard Booth's voice telling her what to do. He told her that she needed to let the agents do their jobs. He told her to keep her distance. He told her to stay safe.

* * *

As soon as a hand and then an arm appeared around the edge of the door Booth flung himself against it. He heard the man on the other side let out a surprised "oof" and then he gripped the edge of the door and pulled it back hard the other way. He came face to face with an unbalanced Ben Nightingale and he didn't think twice as he struck him on the back of his hand – the hand that held the gun. He landed the blow above his wrist and Nightingale yelled out in pain as Booth heard the telltale snap. He immediately dropped the gun and Booth kicked it away, out of their reach. In the blink of an eye Booth landed a series of forceful strikes with his dominant right hand to the side of Nightingale's jaw and temple. His attacker wobbled a little on his feet before he collapsed to his knees. Booth kneed him in the face, supporting the back of Nightingale's head to ensure the blow did the maximum amount of damage. He let go and his kidnapper slumped to the floor, his face blooded and his eyes unfocused.

Booth looked for the gun now that Nightingale was out of action, at least momentarily. He picked it up and stuffed it down the back of his jeans. Then he grabbed the other man by the collar of his brown leather jacket and dragged him all the way into the room. He had no cuffs, no rope, nothing, and so although he would have preferred to tie the man up he didn't have that luxury. Instead, he turned him over and brought the butt of his gun down onto the back of his head, rendering him unconscious.

He closed the door behind him as he made his way out into the wide corridor. Holding his gun firmly in his shooting hand he looked into the two other rooms he came across – both were empty. A door at the end of the corridor was locked and so he doubled back. It looked like someone was in the middle of carrying out a major renovation – planks of timber were stood up against one wall and sheets of drywall about ten boards thick were piled up against the other. At the other end of the cluttered corridor was a set of concrete steps. He aimed his gun up as he peeked from around the corner and looked to the top, in case someone was waiting to take his head off the moment he tried to take a step towards freedom. He didn't rush, he took one step at a time and held his gun out in front of him and tried to imagine what awaited him at the top.

The steps led into a large brightly painted open plan kitchen. A quick check assured him that it was empty and so he moved on in the direction of the partly opened door to the right. As he passed by a large refrigerator he noticed two paintings that were obviously the work of a child affixed to the front with star shaped magnets. He walked through the door and found himself in a well appointed laundry room. The room was spotlessly clean and ordered, as was the kitchen. He tried the door at the end of the room and was relieved to find it unlocked. He walked down the three steps that led into a double garage. And there, directly in front of him were two white vans.

Suddenly the garage door rattled and he realised that someone was trying to open it. He flattened himself against the side of the van nearest to him, out of view from the garage door. He watched as the white door slid up and then pivoted into place in an up and over motion. He wanted to cheer as Charlie crept inside, his gun pointed in front of him, his face tense. But before he had the chance to alert the other agent of his presence, Charlie was lifted off his feet as a volley of bullets burst from somewhere on Booth's left and found their target. Booth knew the agent was wearing a vest and so he had to hope none of the bullets had landed higher. He gripped the gun tighter in his hand and walked the two steps to the back of the van, trying to give himself a line of sight to the shooter. But then he heard the unmistakeable sounds of wood splintering and glass smashing. They were coming in the front door and this time Booth fully expected the next crash as the back door to the house was kicked in. Then another gunshot rang out.

He heard footsteps and as he broke from cover all he saw was the retreating figure of a well built man running back into the house. He rushed over to Charlie and was relieved to find that the other man was breathing. But he was unconscious, and as Booth quickly examined the textile matrix of the vest, he cursed when he felt how deep the bullets had penetrated. He knew Charlie needed help, he could have a chest contusion or broken ribs which had resulted in a punctured lung, but he didn't have time to help him now. He grabbed his feet and dragged him to the side of the garage, out of sight, and then he darted back inside and took all three steps in a single stride as he re-entered the house.

* * *

Brennan watched with horror as she saw Charlie fly into the air and land on the sidewalk outside the garage door at the side of the house. She followed his instructions and reached for the radio and told the female dispatcher that Agent Burns had been shot and that he needed medical assistance. Then she completely disregarded his instructions and got out of the car and raced towards the house.

In the time it had taken her to call through to the FBI and make it to the garage, Charlie was gone. Was he uninjured? She doubted it. Maybe the killer had taken him inside the house? The sound of gunshots had brought people out of their homes and onto the street. She yelled out that they should take cover before running inside. She noticed the open door that led into the house and she stopped at the entrance and listened. She heard someone shouting; seconds later a gunshot sounded.

* * *

Booth burst into the kitchen in time to watch Agent Johnson, who had come through the back door, collapse heavily to the floor. This time there was no doubt. The agent was dead; the bullet that smashed into his skull killed him instantly. Booth took aim and shouted for the shooter to drop his gun but instead the man pivoted on the spot and started to fire blindly in panic. Booth fired a single shot into the side of the man's head and, as if in slow motion, the other man pitched forward, his stomach and chest hitting the kitchen table before he crashed to the floor. He rushed over; his gun still raised, and used his foot to roll the man over. He stared into the sightless eyes of Ben Nightingale.

Booth spun round at the sound of footsteps to his right but lowered his gun as Agent Durant came into view. He understood her hesitation as she saw her partner lying lifeless on the floor covered in blood, but she needed to take cover not stand there open mouthed, advertising herself as a target. He stepped forward, placing his hands on her shoulders and quickly steered her away from the horror.

"Agent Dur...Erin, you need to keep it together. You can't do anything for Johnson now...you need to stay safe and help me out, okay?" She looked at him and nodded and he knew that for the next few minutes at least she would be operating on autopilot.

He heard a banging noise coming from the floor below. Booth motioned for the agent to fall into step behind him and together they cautiously descended the staircase. The pounding noise continued and they followed the sound to the room that Booth had earlier discovered to be locked. He yelled out that he was FBI and that he whoever was in there should keep back from the door. All he heard in response was a muffled shout and he took a step back before he brought his foot against the lock and kicked the door in. He looked quickly around the room, at first ignoring the body of man the lying on the floor, a few feet from the door. He wanted to be sure that they were alone and that the prostrate man offered no threat before he relaxed for even one breath.

"Check him out." He ordered as he stood in the entranceway, keeping his eyes and his gun trained on the empty corridor.

Agent Durant stepped cautiously around the man, her gun raised, but when she saw who it was she dropped to her knees and removed the gag that was stuffed in his mouth. She pulled a flick knife from inside her back pocket and sliced the tightly pulled rope which tied the man's hands together and then she untied his bare feet. As soon as he was able to move freely, the man rolled over to face the door.

"Agent Booth!" O'Hanlon croaked, as he sat up.

"Well, whadya know, kid. Shit, I didn't hit you with the door, did I?" He said looking at the younger man quickly before averting his keen gaze back to the corridor.

"No, I'm good and more than happy to see you guys."

"Here, let me help you." Agent Durant said as she supported his weight, allowing him to stand. He wobbled a bit but otherwise he appeared fit enough to walk.

"Rios?" O'Hanlon said, and Booth knew he was asking him if the other man had made it.

He didn't turn his head. "Nah."

"I guessed as much when I saw him hit the deck. After that I don't remember much else...then I woke up here. He...he had a wife and three kids."

"I know, kid. I know."

"Are you okay to walk?" Agent Durant asked as she unholstered the gun she kept strapped to her ankle and gave it to O'Hanlon.

"Yeah. Let's get out of here."

Booth looked back into the room and waved for them to get behind him as they ventured out into the empty corridor. They had made it as far as the second step of the staircase when a woman's scream pierced the silence. Booth took the steps quicker but still trained his gun upwards, anticipating an attack. As they made it to the top, he could hear the sounds of a struggle and then he heard the heavy slam of a door. He realised the noise was coming from the garage and he told the other agents to go around to the front before he gritted his teeth and headed in the direction of the sounds.

* * *

Brennan had been frozen to the spot since hearing the gunshot. Her heart was beating so hard in her chest she actually believed she could hear it. She was being irrational, she knew that, but the fear that Booth might be hurt, or worse rendered her immobile. And she was scared for herself. She had no weapon. She was an anthropologist not an agent and even though she was confident in her abilities to fend off a physical attack, she would have no answer to a bullet. She tried to swallow but her mouth was so dry that all she succeeded in doing was making herself cough and gag.

She took a deep breath and walked through the door and into a laundry room. She _had_ to do what she could. She needed to be strong. Booth was waiting for her, _counting _on her. At that same moment a man appeared in the doorway directly in front of her. She tried to backtrack but he caught her arm and wrenched her towards him, hard.

The man closed the door behind him, letting her go in the process. "Man, Ben told me you were a looker – he didn't do you justice. "

"What have you done with Booth? Where he is?" She pleaded as she backed away from him until she hit the wall.

"I don't have time to make nice, darlin'. Now, I suggest you keep your mouth shut or I'll be forced to shut it for you."

She had no doubt that he would try to kill her if she disobeyed him but instead of staying silent, she heard a scream echo around the small room and it took a full heartbeat before she realised she was the one making the sound. He closed the distance between them and struck her hard across her face with the back of his hand, sending her crashing against a spin dyer. Before she had time to shake off the blow, he was on her again and managed to grasp her hands behind her back and force her down the steps and back into the garage. She was dazed and growing weaker by the second. She tried to fight him off but he was too strong for her, too close to her to enable her to land a kick or a punch.

"Don't waste your time." The man said as he backed her against the side of one of the white vans and reached into his pocket for his keys.

"I know who you are. The FBI is sending back-up; you can't escape."

The fear she felt in the man's presence was like a physical assault. Her skin was crawling and she felt completely helpless. She had sat opposite evil people in the interrogation room with Booth, and sometimes in jail, but this man was different somehow. It was the way he looked at her – like she wasn't a real person, just a female body that needed to be dominated and then erased. Every glance, every touch made her sick to her stomach and she couldn't imagine how those poor women had felt when they realised what kind of monster he was.

"Don't count on it." He said as he inserted the key into the lock.

When he released his grip on her shoulder and upper arm to try and turn the stubborn key, she wriggled free. She had taken half a step, no more, when he grabbed her by the throat and slammed her against the door. He squeezed tight, compressing the airway and interfering with the flow of blood in her neck and within seconds she felt herself losing consciousness. As her head swam and her chest clutched painfully she wondered how much longer it would be before he badly damaged her larynx and fractured her hyoid. Suddenly, the pressure abated and she became aware of a second male voice.

"Get your fucking hands off her or so help me, I'll rip your head off!"

"Easy there, Feeb. I'm just warming her up."

Brennan found herself being pulled to the left. The man positioned her in front of him and she gasped as she felt the solid metal nose of a gun being pressed hard against the small of her back. Booth was standing there in front of them pointing a gun at the monster and looking like he'd been to hell and back. She wanted to break free and fly at him, to hold him, kiss him and never let him go.

"Let her go. You don't have any options here, there's no place to run to."

"Oh, there are always options. See, I could blow a hole right through her if I move my finger on this trigger here."

"I _will_ kill you."

"You wanna see her stomach explode, fine, then shoot me. But you know as well as I do that the bitch won't recover from that kind of damage."

She watched as Booth shifted his gaze to her stomach and he winced. He looked scared and battered and yet he still managed to stand there like an immoveable force. Then he looked up at the other man, the killer, the monster and a look crossed his face that she hoped she would never see again. She knew the other man had to feel it. She looked at the man she loved and felt his fury and understood that underneath his eerily calm exterior a rich reservoir of violence threatened to explode and consume everything in its path. Booth looked focused and very, very deadly.

Michael James realised that whatever happened he wasn't going to go free, and that he would die in a matter of seconds if he didn't drop his weapon and surrender. Being faced with death, the actual reality of it had left him with no choice. He nudged the woman forwards and drew his gun away from her back. He slid it up over her shoulder blade but kept the gun tight to her body, not yet willing to release her.

Booth recognised the fear that flickered in the killer's eyes as the other man quickly understood the power shift. "That's it. Just let her go and give me the gun."

Just as the barrel of the gun appeared over her shoulder, Booth heard the wail of sirens and the other man froze in fear and then grabbed Brennan roughly around the neck from behind.

"Tell them to back off, or I swear I'll shoot her."

"Easy. Easy. Nothing's changed here. Just give me the gun and back away from her."

"No! You'll shoot me."

"No. I won't, if you let her go."

"I don't believe you. Fucking pig...you're gonna shoot me whatever I do."

The man was terrified now and out of control, making him more dangerous than ever. Booth kept his hand and arm steady and looked once into the scared blue of Brennan's eyes before he took a deep breath and tried one last time.

"I'm gonna level with you. You're scaring me and when I get scared I shoot. You have one chance to let her go and walk out of here alive or so help me, I'll end you."

"Fuck you! Fuck you, you lying sack of shit...I don't fucking care anymore...you and your bitch whore can go to hell. You'll have to live with the fact that you killed her...fucking dirty slut is gonna die because of you and..."

Booth squeezed the trigger and watched as the man fell back against the side of the van and then onto the ground. He had killed the other man in a split second of violence but he couldn't think about that now, all he could focus on was the sound of her screaming out his name.

The side of her beautiful face was covered in blood and worse. And her scream tore through him, making Booth question if somehow he had caused her pain. There hadn't been another shot. The killer didn't get the chance. But her scream was all pain and hurt.

I thought...I thought..." Brennan cried out as she felt herself tip forwards, the ground appeared to rear up and surge quickly towards her. Then she was floating.

Booth rushed forward and caught her in his arms. He eased her to the ground and kept his hand under her head – out the corner of his eye he noticed the approaching agents. He yelled out that both gunmen were down and that Agent Burns was injured and told them where he could be found. Then looked at her again, stroking matted bloody hair off her forehead. He whispered, as he leaned in close that she was going to be okay, that help had arrived.

She looked up at him not realising that tears were sliding freely down her cheeks. His warm brown eyes examined the length of her and she knew he was checking for evidence of injury. She wanted to tell him that she was unhurt, that any injuries were minor, superficial but her tongue jammed against the roof of her mouth and prevented her from saying a single word. He ran the back of his fingers delicately across her right cheek, which was mostly untouched by the killers' blood, and tried to soothe her with his words. But she still couldn't let go of the fear. She couldn't believe that he was really safe.

"Bones, you're in shock but you're gonna be just fine, okay? The medics are here and they're going to get you all fixed up and take you to the hospital." She reached for his hand and held it tight to her cheek, silently willing him not to leave her.

Booth looked up as two paramedics approached and knelt down next to them. They spoke to Brennan in calm and assuring tones and then a third paramedic arrived and gave him a cursory exam before announcing him fit enough to travel with them to the hospital unaided. He swallowed deeply and shook his head as the three men moved her carefully onto a stretcher and walked her to the back of the awaiting ambulance.

At the moment she lost sight of him, she found her voice. She croaked out his name and tried to sit up. A second later, he was holding her hand and telling her that he wasn't going anywhere, that he was going to stick to her like glue. If she wasn't so scared, she might have found the description amusing.

Booth climbed into the ambulance and scooted to the far end of the black vinyl covered bench seat as her stretcher was secured into place. As soon as the paramedics told him he could, he reached for her hand again. On the journey to the hospital he tried his best not to get in the way but every time he let her go, she called for him and the sound of her voice just about broke his heart.

"Bones, I'm here. You're safe now. It's all going to be okay."

He looked crushed by her plaintive cries but she couldn't seem to stop. He continued to whisper to her, soothe her and slowly, almost imperceptibly she came back to herself. She felt his warm hand covering her own and his breath ghosted her neck and cheek. She swallowed and tried to speak, tried to tell him what was in her heart.

"Booth...I..."

"Ssshhh, Bones, don't try and talk. Just rest. Just rest now, baby."

She stared into his chocolate brown eyes and breathed. She breathed in and out and concentrated on his beautiful face and she told him over and over in her mind that he was loved.

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

_

* * *

_

_**AN: Would Ben Nightingale have regained consciousness that fast? I dunno...but perhaps not. I guess I took a couple of liberties here. The biggest liberty of all being that I assumed you'd want a dose of goodness at the end of this chapter. I wasn't wrong, right? **_

_**Thanks for reading and reviewing - you guys are so great!**_

_**I really hope you liked it. :)**_


	24. Love's Philosophy

_**AN: **__**Sorry**__** for the delay in posting. I'm blaming it on the fact that I need to work for a living – it's been getting in the way of everything else. Also, to be completely honest, I really struggled with this chapter. **_

_**Anyway, here we go, folks – the **__**penultimate**__** chapter. Hope you like it. :)**_

_**

* * *

**_

_**Love's Philosophy - Percy Bysshe Shelley**_

_The fountains mingle with the river  
And the rivers with the ocean,  
The winds of Heaven mix for ever  
With a sweet emotion;  
Nothing in the world is single,  
All things by a law divine  
In one spirit meet and mingle -  
Why not I with thine?_

_See the mountains kiss high Heaven  
And the waves clasp one another;  
No sister-flower would be forgiven  
If it disdained its brother;  
And the sunlight clasps the earth,  
And the moonbeams kiss the sea -  
What are all these kissings worth  
If thou kiss not me?_

_

* * *

_

Booth turned the key in the lock and half walked, half stumbled through the door of his apartment. He used the heel of his foot to slam it shut behind him. All he wanted was to fall into bed and sleep for a week, maybe more. But he stank so bad that getting clean was his first priority. Sleepwalking though his shower, he dried himself off as much as he could be bothered before he walked through to his bedroom and collapsed naked into bed. Within seconds, he was sound asleep.

It was hours later that he heard the sound of footsteps treading a path toward his bed. He was lying on his stomach, and he quickly slid his hands under his chest and started to lift himself up.

"What the..."

"It's me. Booth, it's me. Don't worry."

"Bones?"

"I couldn't sleep. I used your spare key. I didn't mean to startle you."

"S'okay." He mumbled and flattened himself against the soft sheet.

Booth wanted to ask her if she was okay but he was so tired that he wasn't completely sure if he was actually having this conversation with her, or if he was dreaming. He drifted again before becoming vaguely aware of movement to his left. He felt the mattress dip and then correct itself before he gave up the half-hearted fight and was lost to sleep.

Brennan lay close to the edge of the bed; she made sure not to get too close for fear of waking him again. But within minutes, she was sweltering, and so she slid out from underneath the covers and took off her jeans and heavy sweatshirt. She climbed back under the covers and turned onto her side so that she could observe him. He was snoring lightly, his head turned away from her, but she could tell that he was deeply asleep. He was exhausted. He had been through so much, but still, he hadn't left her side when she was being examined at the hospital, nor later, when agents had come to her room to take their statements. The moment they were finally alone, he had turned to her and pulled her to him in a crushing hug. She had hugged him back, just as hard, and they had stayed locked in a desperate embrace, each struggling with conflicting feelings of relief and residual fear until Angela and Hodgins came bursting through the door of the private room.

Booth had let her go, reluctantly, and he had to hand it to Angela, she had waited patiently on the sidelines for him to release her best friend. But when he did, the artist flew at Brennan and held onto her for dear life. Eventually, Hodgins stepped forward and placed his hand on his wife's shoulder, wordlessly telling her that it was okay now. Their friends were safe.

"But you could have died! Both of you!" With that, she had turned her attention to Booth, and he took a step back, bracing himself. Angela walked toward him and stood on tiptoes to place a soft kiss on his forehead. He smiled and let himself be pulled into a fierce hug.

"Thank you. Thank you for saving her from that maniac." Angela said shakily as she finally let him go.

"Bones saved _me_. And _you_, Hodgins...I owe you...thanks, man. You really came through for us."

Hodgins shook his head, dismissing the compliment, and rested his arm around Angela's shoulder. She leaned into him, making it difficult for him to return Booth's firm handshake. "I'm just relieved that you're both okay and that this is finally all over."

"Yeah. It's done." Booth said quietly, as he struggled to adjust to the myriad emotions that swirled in his heart. He had taken two lives. Two more names took their place on his list. Knowing that somewhere out there, there was a woman or a girl who would see her next birthday, who wouldn't die a horrible and violent death and who would never have to know the name Michael James, made it easier, but he wasn't naive enough to think it would erase what he'd done. Taking lives and saving lives didn't cancel each other out. He wasn't knocking names off his list with every life he saved – there could be no balance. He had killed another human being, and that would always penetrate deeper than knowing that he had enabled someone to live. He had learned the hard way that there was no such thing as a flawlessly happy ending. It was never perfect, never without strings attached. And the cost to his soul would always be steep.

After giving Angela and Hodgins the highlights of what had happened at Michael James's house, Booth announced that it was time they called it a night and headed home. Minutes later, he was driving Brennan across town to her apartment building. It was close to midnight when he pulled to a stop and turned off the ignition. Without saying a word, he climbed out of the sedan and walked around to her side of the car.

"Come on, sleepyhead, I'll walk you up." He opened her door and offered her his hand.

"There's no need to escort me, Booth. I'm quite capable of..."

"I know. But let me do this, okay?"

"Why?"

"So I'll know you're safe." Brennan took his hand and let Booth pull her to her feet. She didn't let go once she was standing in front of him, and he didn't either. She knew he needed this. And the honest truth was that she needed it too. Every time she shut her eyes, she felt Michael James's strong hand against her throat, pressing tightly and slowly squeezing the life out of her. She wanted to feel safe, and as she held his hand as they walked to the entranceway, a little of the tension and the fear that burned inside started to melt away.

In the short ride up in the elevator, they stood side by side, and Booth laced his fingers though hers and rubbed the pad of his thumb against the back of her hand. She leaned into him, pressing her cheek against his shoulder, and he let his head his drop to the side and rest on hers. They both stared straight ahead at the uninteresting silver doors, neither knowing how to react to the raw emotions that surged just below the surface. Both understood what they had so nearly lost.

"In the all the chaos, I didn't thank you, Bones."

"Thank me?"

"You sent the agents in my direction. You saved me." Booth said pulling back just enough so that he could place a kiss on the top of her head.

"Well, you saved _me_." She said struggling to speak her words in a logical order as she felt his tender kiss brush her hair.

"So, I guess that makes us even?" He said in a low voice that made her stomach clench in a not unpleasant way.

"Yes. We saved each other. Like always." Brennan said firmly and squeezed his hand, causing him to smile like a fool.

She had wanted him to stay with her but she didn't want to be selfish. He was clearly exhausted. When a few minutes later, he wished her goodnight and told her that he'd call her in the morning, she had almost blurted out that she didn't want him to go. But she didn't. And so he left. She listened out for the sound of the elevator doors closing and then pressed her back against the front door and looked at around her apartment, wondering why suddenly it looked different, like it wasn't home anymore.

She kept the light on in her bedroom for the first time she could remember since her early teens. But it didn't help. She couldn't fall asleep. She tried, but it simply wasn't a possibility. The light, the cell phone by her side, the background noise of the TV which she'd left on in the kitchen...none of these things helped. Nothing helped to control the panic and fear that would suddenly rise up within her and leave her shaking and close to tears.

The minutes predictably grew into hours, and at just after 3 a.m. Brennan couldn't be still any longer. She leapt out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans over her satin pink bed shorts and reached for her "American University" sweatshirt, pulling it down over the matching satin camisole top. She picked up her cell phone, purse and her car keys, and then, pausing only to turn off the television, she headed out into the night in search of the one person she knew could quiet her nerves and help her sleep.

And so here she was. And here _he _was.

He really did have a perfect acromion, Brennan considered, as she continued to study him in the near blackness of his bedroom. Her hands were itching to touch him, to feel the contours and the warmth of his broad muscular back. But she didn't want to risk waking him. She carefully moved closer, so that she could rest her head on the edge of the oversized pillow which he rested on, and was content to just breathe him in. She loved him. She loved him so much that not touching him felt like the cruellest demonstration of torture. And when he woke, she would tell him that.

* * *

When morning came, Booth wasn't ready for it. He squinted against the cut of light that slid through the thin gap in his hastily drawn blinds and cursed the fact that he hadn't taken more care to close them properly before going to bed. He shifted to the right and swung his legs out from under the covers. Standing on unsure and very tired legs, he shuffled over to the window and snapped the wooden blinds shut tight. He figured once he was up he should use the bathroom and so he walked though to into the other room without as much as a backwards glance at the bed.

Brennan woke up the second she heard the sound of running water. Then she heard footsteps and she quickly closed her eyes as Booth wandered back into the bedroom. She felt unsure, nervous and also extremely curious to discover what Booth thought of her being there in his bed. She had no doubt that her being there would come as a surprise, as he was almost delirious with tiredness when she had woken him hours before - there was no way he would remember talking to her. And so she laid there, her back turned away from him, and stayed as still as she could manage while she waited to see what he did next.

The footsteps stopped suddenly. She tried to breathe steadily, deeply, for fear he would know that she was awake. Then nothing. He didn't take another step, nor did he say anything. Just when she was about to break, to give up and let on that she was awake, she felt him climb back into bed next to her. She listened to him breathing and she stayed quiet and still. She was silently begging for him to touch her, when she felt his hand brush her shoulder lightly. She kept her eyes closed as he ran his fingers back down her arm and then retraced his steps. When she felt his warm breath against her shoulder blade, closely followed by the feel of his lips on her skin, she knew it wouldn't be long before he realised that she was awake. What he was doing was pleasurable, but also it tickled. When he began to lightly kiss the sensitive skin at the back of her neck she couldn't hold it in any longer – the ticklish side of her won out. She jerked away from him and let out a throaty laugh that suddenly seemed terribly loud in the relative silence of the bedroom.

"Oookay, so that wasn't the reaction I was hoping for!" Booth said - his tone just on the right side of grumpy.

After he'd gotten over the shock of finding her in his bed (although, come to think of it, he _did_ have a faint memory of her waking him in the night), he wondered what the hell he should do next. Finally, he decided what he wanted most to do was get right back into bed next to her. So that's what he did. Of course, once he was there he couldn't resist the urge to touch her, and then when he touched her he wanted to kiss her...and so on, until she burst out laughing. He was hoping to wake her gently with his kisses, his caresses, but it would appear that she had been lying there trying not to laugh at him. He must be losing his touch. Figured - it had been a while. Shit, who was he kidding? Apart from that night with Charlotte in Maryland, it had been_ ages_ since he had touched a woman while she was even close to being naked. He hadn't touched Catherine like that. They had kissed a few times but his hands hadn't strayed beyond the comfortable safety of her fully-clothed lower back. He never considered touching her. He never really wanted to.

But now, mere inches away, was his partner. His partner, who was wearing a skimpy silken top...was she wearing matching panties...oh, man, he wanted so bad to find out. She was close to naked, maybe closer than _she_ realised, and fuck he wanted to make her feel good. But sadly, thus far, all his touch had managed to illicit from her was amusement, and that really wasn't the emotion he was hoping for.

"I'm extremely ticklish, Booth." Brennan said, her voice still full of laughter, as she turned to face him.

"I see that." He gulped at the sight of her full breasts straining the soft material, creamy skin visible above the neck of the sinfully sexy top. He quickly drew his gaze upwards but realised from the knowing half-smile on her face that she had caught him gawping at her.

"You seem surprised by that."

He wasn't surprised. He was _transfixed_. Not wishing to come across like a dumbstruck horny idiot, though, he tried to answer her. "I guess, maybe. Bones...I...uh...mpffh...urhh..." He gasped and then gave up trying to form actual words as she slid closer to him and began to place feather-light kisses against his throat, her lips moving slowly upwards until her breath and tongue massaged a particularly sensitive spot at the base of his ear. When she drew his lobe into her warm mouth, he felt a bolt of desire strike him in his abdomen, and travel lower still.

"Does that tickle?" She whispered against his neck as she released his earlobe momentarily.

"No", he barely managed.

"I'm glad. Does that feel good, Booth." She murmured and continued to set his skin on fire.

"Mmm...uhh." Words then failed him for the second time as she dragged her hand down his bare chest and stomach, the white sheet and green comforter bunching under her hand. He felt like he was being unwrapped, revealed inch by inch, and a quick look at her told him that she was pleased with what she saw.

"Um, Bones. I'm naked under here."

"Yes, I know. In the night you were restless and so I held you. I felt your..."

"Oh jeez...I..."

"I'm not talking about your penis, Booth. I brushed your hip when I gathered the covers after you kicked them off and realised that you were naked. Besides, I told you – I find your lack of puritan modesty refreshing."

He wanted to answer her, to at least pretend he had some control over what was about to happen..._Jesus, what the hell __was__ going to happen? _But he didn't trust his voice. Not when she was kissing his neck and gripping the material at his waist, her knuckles starting to turn white. He placed his hand over hers and ran his thumb back and forth over the taut skin at the back of her hand, as she continued to grip the bedcovers. He didn't know what the hell he should do next, and he sensed that she was similarly unsure. He didn't want to rush into this with her. Okay, maybe he _did_. But that was because he was thinking from someplace a little south of her clenched fist.

"Do you mind that I came over last night? I...I just needed to be close to you, to know that you were okay."

"Bones, you're welcome any time, you know that." He was about to explain that he was glad, thrilled, over-the-freaking-moon that she had come over and stayed the night but he never got the chance. The unexpressed thought got stuck in his throat when he heard her words.

"Can I touch you, Booth?" All he could do was take in a deep breath and stare at her as she looked into his eyes and edged the blankets down a little further.

"Last night, I wanted to touch you. It was unbelievably difficult for me not to reach out and explore your body with my hands, my fingers and my mouth."

"Jesus, Bones! You're killing me here." He wasn't being dramatic, her words and her proximity were making his heart dance about erratically in his chest. He supposed he always knew once they stepped over the line and admitted that they felt something for each other that Brennan wouldn't hold back from the physical side of their changed relationship. Likely, she would be more reticent when it came to other aspects of their being together, but when it came to sex, she would be honest about what she wanted. He liked that about her – that and about a million other things.

"Killing you is not my intention. Clearly, I need you alive for this." _Yep. He was a dead man._

"For what?" The words left his lips a millisecond before she kissed him, and then a millisecond later he forgot he'd asked the question in the first place. It didn't matter what she had in mind because he would always follow her. He kissed her softly, letting her set the pace, and only increased the pressure of his lips against hers when she wound her hands around to the back of his neck and pulled him tighter to her. Then her hand was back, skimming his stomach - and pushing the covers down. Down, until he was completely naked before her.

And when she touched him, he nearly lifted clear off the crushed warm sheets because it felt so good. When she smoothed her hands over him, he took control of their kiss because he _needed _to. But she was still leading. He understood that, and he followed. Her hands. Her fingers. Her mouth. She led. He followed.

The phone next to the bed rang. Booth jumped at the sound and he felt Brennan jump in surprise also. He wanted to ignore it. He _wanted _to shoot the bloody thing clear off the bedside table. But he knew he would have to answer it. It could be about Parker. It could be about the men he had shot and killed just the day before. He pushed back into the mattress, and she rested her leg over his own and snuggled in next to him, he reached to the side, his arm and shoulder twisted at an awkward angle and picked up the phone. It was probably the most uncomfortable way he could have attempted the task, and he was likely at risk of dislocating his shoulder for the third time in his life, but the thought of pulling away from her body, creating distance, was not an option.

He cradled the phone between his hand and his cheek. His other hand snaked across her lower back and held her firmly but gently. She dropped her head onto his chest. Booth knew that she didn't want to let go of the moment either and that made it all the more difficult to hit the "call answer" button and let in the outside world.

"Booth." He said clearly into the receiver. She lifted her head off his chest, her face still beautifully flushed. He smiled down at her. And for the first time since that awful night outside Sweets' office, he let himself believe that he had found someone who would love him for the next thirty, or forty, or fifty years.

Brennan looked up at him; his warm brown eyes still twinkled with lingering desire and something else that caused her stomach to tighten in a wonderful way. She smiled, weakly at first, but then without being consciously aware, she stretched her mouth into a full, genuine smile. She felt like she had finally cottoned on to a great secret. That she finally understood what it felt like to lose oneself in another person. He had told her that one day she would know how it felt. He had promised. And Seeley Booth never broke a promise. She had proof.

Booth ended the call and tossed the phone to the foot of the bed. There was no way he was going to contort himself into a stupid shape again to try and put the phone back into its cradle. "We better get going", he sighed. "Hacker wants to see us."

"I really don't want to get up." Brennan said as she pulled away from him and swung her legs out from under the covers.

"I know. Me either."

Booth got up and walked over to his closet. He pulled a clean white shirt from a hanger. He didn't look back, allowing Brennan to get dressed in relative privacy. He _wanted_ to look of course, but he didn't.

Soon they were dressed and they couldn't stall any longer. Neither noticed the other looking at the unmade bed. But both were thinking the same thing. This was a postponement - nothing scarier or more permanent than that.

* * *

FBI Building: 

After meeting with Hacker and then dropping Brennan off at the Jeffersonian, Booth's first task was to call the hospital and ask for an update on Charlie's situation. The other agent was doing well and would make a full recovery. He had two cracked ribs and some nasty deep bruising but nothing life-threatening. Booth would drop by later and see him but he needed to tie up a few loose ends first. Also, if he was being entirely honest, he wanted to wait until visiting hours were over and then head over to the hospital - that way he could avoid Charlie's wife, Monica. The woman liked to talk...a _lot_. He knew from experience that five minutes in her company felt like an hour. He didn't have the energy to deal with that right now.

Next he called Riley to tell him that he would definitely be out of his apartment the next day. He felt bad that Riley, Emma and the kids had had to spend the previous night in a hotel in the city, but what else could he do? He hadn't anticipated being kidnapped. He found out last night that his friend had called his office to let Booth know that they were on their way to D.C. and was told that he was unreachable. Then he'd driven into the city and headed to his apartment, only to be met by armed agents posted at the front door. Booth had called him from the hospital once he was sure that Brennan was okay, to let him know that he was unhurt, but there wasn't time to discuss anything else.

When he hung up on Riley he wondered, given the change in their relationship, if it would be pushing it to ask Brennan if he could stay with her. He really didn't want to go to Casa Hodgins. But was that asking too much of her? They hadn't even defined what it was they had. And that night in her apartment, as they lay on her kitchen floor, she had told him that she needed time. It was. It _was_ too much to ask. But then he remembered what else she had said. _"Do you need time and space, Bones?" _And she had answered: _"No. Just time."_ He'd maybe try and sound her out about it. But right now, he had a pile of work to get through.

A couple of hours later, just as he ended a call with Cullen, he saw O'Hanlon walk past the glazed front wall of his office. Booth leapt out of his chair and went in search of the young agent.

"Hey, O'Hanlon, you know you should be resting up." Booth said as he caught up to him near the communal kitchen.

"I was. I just wanted to hand in my report and see if there was anything I else I could do right now."

"Nah. We're good here. There's nothing you can do except to go home and rest. I'm surprised the hospital released you this early."

"I'm not injured. I just need to get my strength back because of the dehydration and lack of sleep."

Booth looked him over and quickly recognised the anxiety that was radiating off the other man. He was still scared. And Booth would bet his pension that when O'Hanlon closed his eyes he imagined being back in that room in the basement of Michael James's house. Sometimes, when Booth closed his eyes, he was back in Kosovo, or trapped on that boat waiting for it to explode, or being wheeled on a stretcher into the operating theatre. Those images and memories lessened with time but they would never go away. And right now, for O'Hanlon, those memories of being helpless, scared and alone would be terrifyingly potent and very, very real.

"I guess I'm going stir-crazy just sitting around."

"Yeah. I know how _that_ is. Look, you need to take care of yourself, you're no good to us otherwise, understand? You've um...got an appointment to see someone, right?"

"You mean like a shrink?"

"Yeah. Like a shrink."

"Yes. I've gotta see that Dr. Sweets guy."

"That's good. He'll help you. He may be twelve, but he's got the goods."

"I guess I'll find out next week when I go for my first session."

"Good. So, you'll go see Sweets and then you and I can talk about when you can come back to work. In the meantime, if you need anything, you holler, okay? I mean it, kid."

"I'll be fine, Boss. In a few days, I'll be right as rain. There's no need for you to..."

"O'Hanlon, I know you're new here, but one thing you need to learn fast is that we take care of our own."

The other man looked like he might cry. Booth really hoped he didn't, for both their sakes. But after a shaky couple of seconds, O'Hanlon steeled himself and Booth patted him on the shoulder and together they walked in the direction of the elevators. He needed to kick the kid off the premises for his own damn good.

* * *

The Jeffersonian: Evening

Brennan was finding it almost impossible to concentrate. It wasn't the uncharacteristically noisy lab – Hodgins and Wendell were working on an experiment which involved the use of small explosive charges and a varied assortment of seasonal fruit – it was _Booth_ that was distracting her from being able to piece together the shattered tibia of a World War I soldier. And Booth wasn't even in the same room as her, even in the same building. It was infuriating. She leant forward over the white backlit table and placed her index finger on an Oreo-sized piece of bone and drew it carefully toward her. Spying a matching fragment to the left, she lifted her finger, and then, using the same action, she collected the other piece. It was slow going. It was not where she wanted to be. For the first time since Sully had sailed off into the sunset, she honestly considered the possibility of living a different kind of life for a while. Not because she was scared for herself. Not because she was terrified of losing Booth. No. She contemplated living a different kind of life because she_ wanted_ to. She _wanted_ a different kind of life with Booth, just for a while, and then together, they would come back to what they knew, what they were driven to do and what they loved.

"Sweetie, what _are_ you still doing here?"

"I'm piecing together the shattered tibia of a fallen World War I soldier."

"Yes. I see that. What I meant was that you shouldn't be here. You should be at home."

"Why?"

"Because yesterday a psycho killer tried to strangle you and held you at gunpoint." Angela learned a long time ago that sugar-coating things did her no good with Brennan. Direct, to-the-point explanations served them best.

"But I'm fine now."

"Okay, but it wouldn't hurt to take it easy for the next few days."

"And do what?"

"Nothing – that's what 'taking it easy' means. Just relax and pamper yourself a little."

"That sounds unproductive. And dull."

"So read a novel, get naked and sweaty with Booth, or write another chapter of your book...you get the picture?"

"I've finished writing my book."

"Well, just do the other stuff then."

"Angela!"

Angela could hardly fail to notice the blush that crept up the side of her friend's neck and cheek. Oh, boy - something had happened, and if it was making Brennan blush, it must be something _good_. Just then, Booth appeared at the base of the forensic platform and jogged up the steps. Angela studied her friend's reaction to him, and in an instant she knew that he was most definitely the cause of Brennan's over-heated face. After listening to her friends engage in meaningless small talk for a few minutes, she realised that it was her presence that was likely causing them to be so careful around each other. Making her excuses, she left them to it and went in search of Jack. _Surely he and Wendell had blown up all the fruit by now?_

"I'm on my way over to see Charlie and I thought I'd see if you wanted to come with me?"

"That's very thoughtful of you, Booth. I would like to see him."

"Then after, maybe we could grab some Thai?"

"Well, I do have more to do here. But I suppose it can wait. Yes. I would like that."

She followed him down the steps and into her office. She allowed him to help her on with her coat, and tried not to lose her mind when she felt his fingers graze her neck. She could honestly say that she had never been this affected by a man. When the slightest of touches made her head spin.

And then there was the way he drove them across town on the way back from the hospital. His strong hands were gripping and then slowly sliding the steering wheel one way and then the other. She bit her lip as she allowed her eyes to roam his thighs and chest. She wasn't proud. She was past caring that was the truth of it. Everything he did turned her on. Every. Single. Thing. She wasn't sure if she really liked the feeling of being so out of control. But she was smart enough to know that there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. Well, maybe there was _one_ thing.

"So, do you still wanna grab some Thai, or is it too late?" She saw the muscle in his cheek spasm and she wanted to lean across and kiss the tension away.

"I have left-over vegetable rice and noodles at home." She offered, close to praying (and she never did that...what was the point...) that he would be happy to settle for leftovers.

"Sure. That sounds good." The muscle in his cheek twitched again and she smiled a small smile – at least she wasn't the only one losing her mind.

* * *

Brennan's Apartment

An hour later, and they had eaten the cold rice and noodles and finished off a bottle of red wine. Booth was lounging in one of her oversized armchairs and she was sitting on the sofa, her legs stretched out in front of her.

She asked him if he wanted more wine and he shook his head. He offered to get another bottle from the kitchen if she wanted another glass. She told him no, she didn't want to drink any more.

Then there was silence.

Finally, he broke it. "You must be tired, Bones."

They both understood that he was asking her if she wanted him to leave. He was giving her an out. She didn't want one. And then he looked at her, really looked at her. She felt exposed. She liked it. She wanted him to know what he was doing to her. Booth stood and walked over to sofa and then sat down next to her feet. She let him move her feet over his lap, the backs of her knees coming to rest against his leg. He didn't say a word. But he touched her. He smoothed her jeans, which had risen up at the ankle, and then he traced his fingers up to her knees and back down again. He repeated the action once more before allowing his fingers to lead him higher. Brennan looked down and watched his hands slide up her legs, warming the outside of her thighs, before his fingers came to rest at her waist. Then all of sudden, she was sliding down the sofa and he was hovering over her.

She didn't want the space he had kept between them. She didn't need it, but loved him for giving it to her. She planted her hands at her sides and lifted up from the sofa, kissing him firmly, and tried to make him understand that she didn't need space, and she didn't need time. Not anymore.

The night darkened into near blackness. She led him to her bedroom. And then...

Booth brushed a silky soft strand of hair off her shoulder and placed quick kisses across the now bare expanse of skin. Brennan cast her head back, encouraging him to kiss her neck. He complied with her silent wish, and she felt a fire build from her toes and burn its way up her body until it flared in her chest and then tracked countless pathways, sending sparks dancing across her sensitised skin, warming her from the inside out. When he kissed her mouth and eased her back onto the bed, she realised that she had never felt so loved. She was loved. And _she_ loved.

When later, he cupped her knee in his hand and gently pushed so that her leg bent at the knee; she sighed against his cheek and told him that she wanted to feel him inside her. His kisses became more urgent, clumsy, and he traced his hand along her thigh before gripping her hip and pulled her closer to him. He covered her body with his own as he filled her in a smooth movement which left her blissfully breathless, boneless and complete. Brennan closed her eyes as he began to move slowly inside her. At first she moved with him, content to surrender to the devastatingly pleasurable pace he set with such ease. But soon it wasn't enough and all too much rolled into one. She shifted forward firmly against him and took him deeper, and almost came when he growled "Temperance" low in his throat.

The sound of her name falling from his lips overwhelmed her, and she suddenly felt like she would burst if she didn't tell him how she was feeling. It wasn't a secret she wanted to keep any longer. It was a burden. It was keeping her from what might be if only she had the courage to say the words out loud. If only she had faith in him to believe her words and know that she would never take them back. She did possess an open heart. For him.

"I love you." She breathed quietly against his neck as he pushed deeper inside her.

"I love you." She said again in a whispering moan as he slid his hands under her, sliding her closer, before he increased the pace he had set and which she had blindly followed.

Suddenly it wasn't clear who was leading. Suddenly it all became about instinct and unselfish desire. And inevitability. She felt herself beginning to drown in the feeling that was building unchecked within her and despite that she didn't want this to end; she knew she couldn't hold back.

"I _love_ you." She kissed the words onto his lips and let herself feel what before she could only dream was possible.

* * *

_**AN: The poem above has long been a favourite of mine: "What are all these kissing's worth, if thou kiss not me?" *melt***_

_**Anyway, back to this chapter: I hope it was worth the wait. I have to admit, I'm kinda nervous – writing smut does not come easy to me. Hope this wasn't horrendously apparent. Also, you may have noticed, Brennan is the first to say out loud those three little words. I am still going with the idea that once she commits to loving Booth, they'll be no stopping her.**_

_**So, there's **__**one**__** more chapter to go. I've written most of it and hope to post again in a little while.**_

_**Thanks for reading. : )**_


	25. A Moment

_**AN: I'm really sorry for the delay in posting this the final chapter of my story. I don't have an excuse just a mixture of reasons that I won't bore you with.**_

_**My inspiration for writing this story was to explore Booth's recovery from his brain tumour because I thought the show kind of ignored this in the main. I know it was slow and angst-filled going there for a while, but in addition to developing the Brennan and Booth relationship, for the large part in tandem with the episodes as they aired, and plotting a serial killer storyline, (with, to be honest, varying degrees of success) I wanted to try and depict just how hard recovering can be. I have no direct experience of this but in researching this story I read accounts written by people who have undergone similar types of surgeries. Hopefully I've managed to reflect some measure of truth in amongst my many, many words.**_

_**A Moment – Mary Elizabeth Coleridge**_

_The clouds had made a crimson crown_

_Above the mountains high._

_The stormy sun was going down_

_In a stormy sky._

_Why did you let your eyes so rest on me,_

_And hold your breath between?_

_In all the ages this can never be _

_As if it had not been._

The Jeffersonian – 21:10

Angela was dead on her feet. Running the back of her hand across her forehead, she half-heartedly swept a thick curl of dark brown hair out of her eye and then mostly managed to tuck it behind her ear. She had been standing watching her husband gazing into a microscope at a smear of silicone grease for the best part of twenty minutes. She'd had enough.

Hodgins swivelled the petri dish to the right and recalibrated the microscope, then, using his spare hand, he reached blindly for the laptop next to him and entered a few keystrokes. The scientist was comparing the sample of grease to the trace evidence extracted from the clothing worn by Maisy Novak on the day she was taken. It was a match. This was the fourth time he'd carried out the test. He wanted to be sure – no, scratch that, he was sure; he just wanted everyone else to be sure. The squint squad, with Brennan at the helm, had spent the best part of two months going back over all the evidence collected during the hunt for the Jackrabbit killer. They were crossing all their 't's' and dotting every 'I', leaving nothing to chance. Three weeks before they had identified the brand of grease found on Maisy's clothing and the FBI technicians and agents had done the rest. Booth's team had located a distributor based in Leesburg, and finally they hit paydirt. The store manager went back through his records and discovered credit card receipts confirming that Michael James had purchased 4 jars of that exact brand five months before.

"Honey, I don't wanna be the one to say it, but I see now that I'm the only one who's_ going_ to say it: there isn't going to be a trial. Why keep doing this? We _know_ it was him."

"I know, Ang." He didn't look up, and so she tried again.

"The FBI, and Booth, they're handling this. They will make sure that the truth comes to light."

"Yeah, and they need me to do my job and get them that truth."

"They _have_ it. The puzzle isn't missing any pieces...it isn't a puzzle anymore. Oh, this isn't coming out right."

"You're tired." Hodgins finally directed his attention away from the microscope and made eye contact.

"Yeah. I'm tired. So are you."

"I'm good. I just want to..."

"Jack, you're exhausted. You've barely slept these past few nights. Come on, let's go home."

"I'll meet you back there, okay? I'm going to..."

"No! Enough! I'm _not_ going home alone. I'm not spending another night lying in our bed waiting for you to come home. I miss my husband, and I'm not leaving here without him."

"Angie, I need to do this. Without _this_, without irrefutable proof, he'll get away with it."

"But he'll _never_ stand trial. He won't face his accusers. He won't have the chance to hear the weight of evidence against him. He won't look across a courtroom at you, Brennan and Cam and realise that you _know_ and can _prove_ he killed those poor women and girls."

"Our legal system sucks, he should _still _stand trial."

"But he won't. Of _course_ he won't."

"I don't give a shit about natural justice! He was a murderer. History needs to show that."

"And it will. Hodgins...it will." Angela walked over to him and swivelled the metal stool around so that his face was level with her chest. Then she hugged him tight, so tight, until she felt him hold her back.

"I love you." He whispered into her dark hair.

Angela kissed his forehead and then held his bearded cheeks in her hands and smiled. "I know. Now, take me home."

Brennan watched through the glass wall of her office as Hodgins and Angela walked hand in hand down the steps of the forensics platform and disappeared – she suspected into the artist's office. She smiled. They made love look easy.

She powered-down her computer and grabbed her jacket from the back of her desk chair. She needed to eat, shower, and sleep. It seemed like an exhausting list. Just the thought of having to do those things almost sent her falling back into her chair. But she managed to stay upright, and making sure to switch off her office light, she walked out into the silent lab. Walking the short distance to Angela's office, with the intention of wishing her and Hodgins goodnight, she pulled up when she saw them stumble against Angela's desk, kissing furiously. Turning away and walking hurriedly in the opposite direction, Brennan crossed the lab and swiped her ID card on her way out.

Twenty minutes later, she was wandering aimlessly down the one of the aisles at her favourite organic grocery store. She needed to choose something before they closed but her basket remained carelessly empty. It seemed to Brennan that deciding what to eat for dinner required the application of mental dexterity - something she didn't feel capable of. Finally, prompted by the flickering on and off of the store's lights, she opted for a family-sized serving of ready-made vegetable moussaka. She made it through the checkout just before an amplified voice announced over the intercom that the store was now closed.

It took her less than ten minutes to make it home. One benefit of leaving work so late was that traffic wasn't an issue. A short while later, she let herself into her apartment and shrugged off her white jacket, taking time to hang it on the coat rack by the door. Then she walked through to the kitchen and turned on the oven. She placed the tray of moussaka on the rack and set the timer. She calculated that she would have just enough time to shower and dry her hair before it was cooked.

Her normally cool bedroom was perceptibly warmer and the full length mirror that hung next to her wardrobe was covered in a misty film of condensation. She smelled sandalwood and sage, and the heavy scent settled over her, making her feel blissfully relaxed. The change in her mood and energy levels was instantaneous. She unbuttoned her blue cotton tailored shirt and tossed it onto the bed, then followed her black dress pants and her watch. Her high-heeled black shoes and satin burgundy bra and panties were discarded along the way as she walked towards the en-suite bathroom; the sound of the shower running grew louder with each step. As she opened the opaque glass door of the generously sized cubicle she realised that she had forgotten to take off her rosewood necklace, but as soon as she felt his warm hand encircle her waist, the thought was forgotten.

His fingers held her firmly in place, as he stood behind her, crouching slightly and dipping his head to the side so that the spray rained down on her head and shoulders. Brennan cast her head back; eyes closed, and let the water slide down her face, washing away the memory and physical effects of another exhausting day. She felt his lips ghost against her cheek and she melted into him. She kept her eyes closed and breathed deeply. Then, as he began to kiss her neck, this time more purposefully, she whispered: "I'm glad you didn't go home, Booth".

Brennan felt his smile against her wet skin and she pushed back against him, relishing the feel of his larger muscular form behind her, anchoring her, keeping her close, keeping her where she wanted to be. She drew in a breath when his hand trailed down her body to where she needed it most. She was home.

Booth knew they'd never be able go back to how things used to be. But what he didn't anticipate was that he wouldn't go home again, not since that first night they spent together. At first he had stayed because she offered to let him move into her spare room to save him from taking Hodgins up on his offer of staying above his garage. But then, once Riley, Emma and the kids had moved back home to Annapolis, and his apartment was his own again, she told him that he needn't move back right away. So he stayed put. They hadn't discussed the fact that they had spent every night since sleeping in the same bed. And so two months passed by in the blink of an eye, and he still hadn't gone home.

Booth had soon discovered that he didn't miss his apartment. Besides, Brennan's place was way cooler than his own, and she even relented and let him bring over his 40 inch Plasma TV. So he had eaten more vegetables and grains and shit in the past couple of months than he'd ever eaten before, but really, this was a very small price to pay. It wasn't like he couldn't make a burger if he wanted, but most of the time he ate whatever she cooked, or, as was more commonplace, he ate whatever they ordered in from Wong Foo's. Living with her was easy. Easier than he ever believed it could be.

He watched as she reached into the cupboard by the refrigerator for a glass, and he thought again about how unbelievably blessed he was. Bones_ loved_ him. She set the glass down on the countertop and grabbed some cold milk from the refrigerator. He smiled. She had told him that she would never understand his fondness for drinking a glass of milk with dinner every night. In fact she had told him numerous times, that to her mind, milk was for pouring over cereal or stirring into coffee. He disagreed. He had told her that Pops had insisted that he and Jared drink a full glass of milk every evening with their meal, and he'd never grown out of it. Mealtimes just weren't the same without it. She carried the glass over to the table and placed it down in front of him. He told her "thank you", and when she caught his eye and smiled, the familiar current that always seemed to flow between them surged and set his heart beating a little faster.

It was the smell of whatever it was she took out from the oven that finally succeeded in pulling him into the moment there with her. Before that he was content to just watch her, and as was often the case, he had zoned out. The herby, fragrant aroma hit him square in the gut, and he shifted in his seat, trying to mask the sound of his growling stomach.

"Booth, when was the last time you ate?"

"I guess this morning?" Before she had the chance to chastise him, he asked the same of her.

"Fine, so I'm in no position to judge." He knew without needing to look up that she was smiling.

"It's not a particularly inspired choice for dinner; in fact, I think this is the second time we've had moussaka this week."

"Don't care. It's food."

Brennan carried over their plates and took a seat opposite him. He wondered how it was that they had so easily settled into this routine. They hadn't once discussed living together, but that's what they were doing. That was the unspoken status of their relationship. He never felt like he'd overstayed his welcome, and he made damn sure that Brennan understood that he was right where he wanted to be. And so the days had turned into weeks and then months and they still hadn't discussed what was happening between them. Normally this would have driven him nuts - the not knowing if he was standing on solid ground, not knowing if they were on the same page, but with Brennan, the not knowing just wasn't a factor. He didn't care if what they had wasn't considered conventional, wasn't labelled and wasn't talked about – none of that mattered because he _knew_. He knew that what they had was going to last. He was _that _guy.

"It's good." He mumbled between hungry mouthfuls.

"Hodgins worked late again." She said taking her first bite.

"Man, he needs to let it go."

"I know. I've tried to talk to him about it, but you know what he's like."

"Yeah. What's Angela's take on it?"

"She's worried, but something tells me that she might be getting through to him."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, when I left the lab they were in her office kissing and I suspect they were planning to have intercourse."

"Great, next time I'm there that's all I'm gonna be thinking about."

"You know, I've never had sex at work. I once had intercourse with a colleague when I was helping out on dig out in Tunisia...but that doesn't count, I was there for recreational reasons, it wasn't work."

"Good to know."

"Why is that good to know?"

"Um, it isn't, I suppose." He wondered if he'd ever get used to the way she changed the course of a conversation in an instant. Just as he was trying to remove from his mind the image of his girlfriend getting it on with some dust-covered genius on a rickety camp bed in the middle of the desert, she knocked him off balance again with her next thought.

"Have you ever engaged in intercourse at work?"

"No. Strangely enough, I go to work to _work_, Bones."

"What about when you've worked a case out in the field?"

"No. Not then either."

"I've been thinking, what happens when we need to stay overnight somewhere for work. Will you need to book a separate room to mine?"

"I guess. I haven't really thought about it, but seeing as we haven't told anyone besides Angela and Hodgins about us, I think we should keep doing things the way we've always done them for now."

"Interesting. So when we're out in the field working a case, we won't have sex?"

"No. Just that we should book separate rooms."

"Ah hah, got it!" Booth grinned broadly at her exaggerated pronouncement, and at the knowing little smile she threw his way. She cracked him up.

Later, he did the dishes, and Brennan went through into her office to read though a draft chapter of her latest book. A half hour later, she hadn't reappeared and so Booth turned off the hockey game he'd been watching and followed after her. Her office was dark apart from the muted light afforded by the reading lamp positioned on her desk. Her back was to him, and she must not have heard him approach, as she didn't turn – instead she continued to jot notes in the margin of the typed page in her hands. Not wanting to startle her, he trod a little heavier on the polished mahogany floor and then she turned around to face him.

"Bones, it's coming up on midnight."

"It is? I'm almost done here."

"Do you want me to wait for you?"

"No. I'll be there in a minute."

He leant over and placed a quick kiss on her forehead. A "minute" in Bones's world meant an hour, at least. She was ridiculously precise most of the time but when she was writing she had no concept of time. Booth knew he'd fall asleep alone tonight. But, he thought a short while later, as he slid between the cool cotton sheets, he wouldn't wake up alone.

Hoover Building – 08:35

They took separate cars to work, and when there, they carried on as though nothing had changed. The banter and the occasional arguing - a well documented feature of their working relationship hadn't ceased - they still did what they did, what worked. In fact, the new intimacy of their relationship had passed colleagues by, perhaps because people had long ago concluded that the partners were lovers, or maybe because people had given up thinking that it would ever happen.

Booth much preferred things that way. He didn't want what they had to become the subject of office gossip. They'd even managed to keep their changed relationship from Sweets. Speaking of Sweets, he was running late for his final solo appointment with the young psychologist.

A couple of minutes later, and following a brisk walk over to Sweets' office, he sank down into the sofa and quickly surveyed the man opposite him. What he saw unsettled him. The other man couldn't keep the smile off his face. _He couldn't know, could he?_

"Sweets?"

"Agent Booth."

"Okay, I'll bite – why are you so cheery this morning?"

"I would have thought that would be obvious." _Dammit, the kid knew! But they had been so careful..._

"Nope, it's not. I guess I need more to go on." He'd play along. He wasn't about to give up the farm without concrete evidence that Sweets knew the whole story.

"Let's just say that I'm happy for you, both professionally speaking and also friend to friend."

"Well, thanks. But I'm not sure I follow."

"You mean you haven't wondered how this conversation would go?"

"Jeez, Sweets...just spit it out, would you.

"Okay. So I..."

"You know what, don't say another word. I'll save you the trouble. Yes! Yes...we're dating, we're together...the metaphorical dam broke and there's no going back now."

"Do you want to go back?"

"What..._no_. I'm right where I want to be."

"And Dr. Brennan?"

"I guess you'd have to ask her. But I know she's happy."

"That's great news. I'm wicked psyched for both of you."

"What? But, Sweets...it's not 'news' – not to you, _right_? That _was_ what you were going to say, _wasn't it_?" His stomach plummeted to somewhere just south of his knees. _Crap! Bones was going to kill him._

"Actually, I was going to congratulate you for the progress you've made since your surgery. I was going to tell you that I support your decision to discontinue our solo sessions. I agree with you, you're ready."

"Shit."

"Hearing that you and Dr. Brennan have entered into a romantic relationship is merely icing on the cake."

"Not one word, okay...don't utter one word to Bones about this."

"Understood."

"So, what do we do now?"

"Now you tell me how you're getting on. We talk about how you're managing the changes you've experienced since your brain tumour. We talk about you being patient as regards your continued recovery and how to deal with any residual panic attacks...in short, its business as usual."

"Sure, I can do that."

"Good. So where do you want to start?"

"Um. I guess I wanted to tell you that my dreams are different...I mean, they're still different. We talked about this before, but increasingly, that life, the make believe coma-dream world, is not somewhere I can reach anymore."

"Do you still want to be able to reach it?"

"Sometimes - I'd be lying if I said I didn't. But I've realised it's a tempting place to be because it's an easier world to inhabit, uncomplicated, you know. But it doesn't make me happy. It can't compare with reality. It used to be somewhere I'd want to escape to because I was in control in that world. I didn't have to deal with panic attacks, and psycho killers, and worrying that I won't be able to get the job done...worrying that I won't be able to protect Bones, and worrying that I could die."

"And in _this _world all those stresses and sources of concern exist."

"Yeah, they do. But that's okay."

"Because now you feel better able to deal with those stresses and concerns." Sweets offered, as he rested back in his chair, pleased when Booth did the same. Dispensing psychological advice was never going to be easy, not in this job, and not to a man like Booth, but they had slowly reached the stage where they were comfortable with each other. They'd stopped trying to score easy points and learned to accept each other's respective expertise. It was an odd sort of friendship, but that's what they had.

"It's taken me a long time, but not I'm scared about living my life anymore."

"You still put yourself in danger – your job demands it."

"I know where you're headed with this, Sweets, and I'm able to cope."

"You were recently kidnapped. You were drugged, beaten, and you understood that your life was in imminent danger."

"Sweets, I was there, remember. I coped. I did what needed to be done."

"You faced the reality that Dr. Brennan might be killed."

"Look, I'm not sure what you're hoping to achieve, but you're not going to provoke me into..."

"I'm not reminding you of what happened to you in an effort to test your emotional resolve. The reports submitted by the officers involved in the incident and statements from those officers who attended the scene, as well as Dr. Brennan's testimony, all attest to your professionalism, your bravery and your sound decision making. I'm reminding you what you are capable of, what you've always been capable of, and, importantly, what you _will_ always be capable of. The emotional challenges that are still a part of your daily life since your surgery will continue to test you, but it's significant that you now feel ready to stop our sessions. It's time."

"And if I want to talk to you again about this stuff?"

"Then you pick up the phone and call me. Otherwise, I'll continue to see you and Dr. Brennan when I'm called in to consult on cases."

"Okay. Good. That's good. So...so, I guess we're done here, Sweets?" Booth stood up. He hesitated, wondering if he should shake the other man's hand, or if he should, as usual, just hightail it out of there.

"Yes. But, before you go, I wonder if you'd be so kind as to sign this for me?" Sweets stood up and walked over to his desk. He retrieved a thick red file from under a pile of non-descript beige manila folders and handed it over to the agent.

"Your book? Your book about Bones and me." Booth held the manuscript in his hands – a manuscript he thought had been reduced to a shredded mess of paper.

"The very same. I made a couple of revisions following your revelation that the Cleo Eller murder was not your first case, but my conclusion that you and Dr. Brennan are in love remains unchanged. And now, very much proven, wouldn't you say, Agent Booth?"

Booth walked back to his office, and with each step, the nervous churning feeling in his stomach bothered him just that little bit more. She was going to kill him for telling Sweets about their relationship. He'd tell her right away – there was no way he'd leave it to chance that the kid wouldn't blab, albeit unintentionally. Bones, in his experience, wasn't normally concerned about keeping her private life private from her colleagues and her employer, but when it came to their relationship, she had told him that she wanted to keep it a secret for as long as possible. He'd queried if this was because she was worried about the FBI dissolving their partnership as a result but she assured him that this wasn't the case. Instead, she had told him as they lay naked on her bed after making love one afternoon when they should have been at work that she didn't want anyone to know aside from Angela and Hodgins because she wanted time to adjust to their new dynamic. And then, in a hushed voice she reminded him that "what's ours is ours". Her words had settled over his bare chest and then sank below his skin, bleeding their simple truth onto his heart.

Booth was also in no hurry to announce the news to Hacker and to the rest of his colleagues. He knew that a decent percentage of the other agents already thought he was sleeping with Bones, but he'd never reacted to their occasional teasing, never gave any credence to the rumours – they were sure to revel in the news that their suspicions were correct. Settling into his chair, he pulled up the list of bank transfers he'd been perusing the day before. He tried to put the matter out of his mind but he couldn't help but hope like hell that his 'slip-up' wouldn't ruin the romantic dinner he had planned for them that evening.

Finding the transaction he was looking for took him the best part of two hours, and when he eventually turned off his computer and turned to look out of his office window, he observed with dismay that it was raining hard. He wondered if the 'Gods of Romance' were intentionally trying to scupper his plans for that evening. So he'd just stick to dinner, the walk to the Reflecting Pool could wait for another time. There was no need to rush things. Waiting for her to be ready to be with him had been worth the wait. Following that logic, he figured that asking her to be with him forever could wait a little longer.

"Booth, you busy?" He jumped at the sound and turned his attention away from the window.

"Hodgins...come in. What's up?" He smiled warmly at the curly-haired entomologist, who walked with purpose over to his desk.

"I wanted to hand this over to you."

"What is it?" Booth took the slim folder from the other man and flipped through it.

"It's our final report on the silicone grease residue we took from Maisy Novak's clothing."

"Great. I thought you said you wouldn't have it ready until next week?"

"I put a rush on it. I...I wanted this off my desk."

Booth gestured for Hodgins to take a seat, but he waved the offer off. "Well I appreciate all your work. The Jeffersonian really came through on this one."

Booth pushed back his chair and stood up. He carefully placed the report on his desk, and rested his hands on his hips. He made no secret of the fact that he was scrutinising the scientist. The other man was obviously bothered about something.

"Well, we are the best." Hodgins said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Normally I'd chew you out about bragging, but in this case it's true."

"So, does that mean that the case is closed?"

"Almost. We have some loose ends, but, yeah, it's over."

"I need it to be over...you know?"

"Yeah. I know. We all need it to be over."

"I guess I can't shake the thought that catching the bad guy was all for nothing."

"You're wrong. Dead wrong. It wasn't all for nothing. He can't hurt anyone else ever again."

"That's cold comfort to Maisy and her family and others like them."

"It's _something_ to the families. It's a_ big_ something, okay – knowing that the man that took their loved one from them hasn't gone unpunished. He isn't out there living a life that he has no right to."

"But he got to take the easy way out."

"Maybe, but I like to think that he's down there somewhere suffering in varied and ingenious ways."

"I'm not sure I subscribe to that belief however attractive it is right now. I want him to suffer in this life."

"His being alive won't bring them back. It won't make the families' pain any easier to bear."

"Maybe. I don't know. Ange is mad at me about it all...about me not letting the case go."

"Angela isn't mad, she's worried for you. You want some advice?"

Hodgins shrugged and stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets. His clear blue eyes were moist with unshed tears, tears that Booth knew he was battling to hold on to.

"Take her somewhere great for the weekend - hell, even better, ask Brennan for the week off".

"You're kidding, right? Doctor B doesn't respond well to surprise requests for vacation time."

"I think she'll make an exception in this case."

"You wanna ask her for me...you know, seeing as you have greater influence now?"

"My 'influence' as you put it remains the same as before. You know as well as I do that Bones makes up her own mind and trusts her own judgement. Ask her."

"It's as simple as that, huh?"

"Just ask her, Hodgins."

"Okay, I will. But if she hands me my ass on a platter, I'm coming back here." Hodgins smiled and turned to walk away, almost colliding with a fair-haired man in his early twenties who had entered Booth's office in a mad rush.

"Sorry, dude." He offered as he manoeuvred out of the way. He tossed Booth a hasty goodbye as he reached the door, before disappearing from view.

"Sorry for interrupting, Boss, but we got a firm lead on Keegan's whereabouts."

"Fill me in on the way, O'Hanlon." Booth grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair and set off in pursuit of his next target.

Anacostia – Later that hour

Booth jammed the SUV into reverse and hit the gas, causing the black car to career around the corner at breakneck speed. He stopped the vehicle a few feet short of the green wooden door which led into the back entrance of a dry cleaning business in the centre of town. Along with O'Hanlon, he jumped from the car and rushed to the door. A swift, heavy kick later and the door fell in, wrenched free from its rusted hinges. They stepped into a small corridor which led directly ahead into what appeared to be a storeroom. His right thigh and hip protested painfully but Booth continued on, O'Hanlon close behind.

"What's the ETA on back up?" Booth asked his voice low and deliberate as he flattened himself against the wall, impervious to the exposed bundle of wires that scratched against his bullet proof vest. Inching closer to the storeroom, he felt his cell phone vibrating in his pocket and he idly wondered if it was Bones calling. All business, Booth crept closer still; his gun aimed ahead, until finally they walked into the cluttered space.

The look of horrified acceptance that crossed John Keegan's face was all the reward Booth needed as he and O'Hanlon tore across the room and quickly overpowered the two men hiding out there. As he secured the cuffs around Keegan's wrists, he felt his cell phone rumble into life again.

"You're one lame-ass kidnapper, Keegan." He said as he reached into his pant pocket for his phone.

"Fuck you, Fed." Spat the stocky and mostly bald-headed man.

"You know the drill, Keegan. O'Hanlon, wanna do the honours?"

Booth answered hit the 'call answer' button as the other agent began the familiar notification: "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney..."

"Booth". He spoke into the receiver as he pulled Keegan to his feet.

"Are we still on for dinner tonight?"

"Absolutely." The thought made him deliciously happy; he had to force himself to adopt a gruff no-nonsense tone in front of the other men.

"I'm running late. I'm afraid that I won't make your eight p.m. deadline."

"Of course you are. But it's fine; the restaurant isn't booked until nine."

"But you made it clear that I needed to meet you at Gino's at no later than eight p.m."

"That's right. But I figured you'd be late."

"Your premature judgment of my capability to be on time is unsettling."

"Face it, Bones, I know you."

"Yes, you do. I am not disputing that. And I know you, _Seeley Booth_, and so you can wipe that self-congratulatory smirk off your face."

And he was smirking. Damn it. And there was no point pretending otherwise because she'd never believe him. He ended the call before he did something foolish like telling her how much he loved her as he stood there in the middle of a crime scene. It was seven years since Temperance Brennan had breezed into his life and he was still at her mercy. She would always possess the rare ability to knock him on his ass (and not only in the figurative sense), the unnerving knack of calling him out on all his bullshit, and the gentle unassuming desire and capacity to love him in the only way that ever mattered, that ever felt real, that ever felt like forever.

Gino's Italian Restaurant, downtown D.C. – 21:30 

Her hand felt amazing in his. It had taken them so very long to reach this moment that every touch that spoke of more than platonic partnership, that spoke of love, of intimacy, made his heart beat faster. The truth was that it was extremely difficult not to touch her all the time. Suddenly, her breath ghosted against his cheek and he felt her lips brush his skin briefly, too briefly.

"What was that for?"

"I wanted to kiss you. I find it difficult to stop touching you. Is that okay?"

He smiled: _what was it they said about great minds and thinking alike...?_ "Is that okay? Is the Pope Catholic?"

"Yes, you know he is. I don't follow...what does the Pope have to do with me wanting to touch you?"

"Kiss me again, Bones."

"But I want to know about the Pope...oh..." Booth leaned across the small table and kissed her gently on the mouth. He wanted so much more, but with a restaurant full of diners all around them, he only hinted at what he really desired.

When he pulled back, he marvelled at the way the candlelight appeared to dance around her, like it was as powerless as he to resist her. He loved this woman. It was as simple and as complicated as that. And, honestly, he sometimes had to pinch himself when he considered that she loved him back. She had stolen his breath when two months before, when they finally were brave enough to ignore the line, the line that was never really there, she told him that she loved him. And he'd had trouble taking a steady breath when earlier that morning she had kissed the words onto his lips as he was standing in front of the bathroom mirror tying his tie. And now...now he recognised the way she was feeling by the way she looked at him and in the way she leaned in...right then...and kissed him.

"You know, we better dial this back...or else Gino's gonna kick us out."

"I very much would like to go home and have intercourse."

"I hear you, but maybe we should at least make it through our appetizers." He said motioning to their untouched plates.

"Well, I am hungry..."

"So eat up. We aren't having dessert, right?"

"Definitely not."

Booth made light work of his plate of scallops with pea puree, and Brennan devoured her arugula salad with wild mushrooms with similar eagerness. Then they sat back and tried to keep their minds from wandering to thoughts of getting each other naked as they waited for their entrees to arrive.

"Hodgins came to see me today. He brought over the last of the forensic evidence results."

"I know. I think Angela is relieved that he's finished with the case."

"He needed to let it go. He looked burnt out."

"I advised him to take a period of leave."

"So he asked you?"

"Asked me what?"

"Nothing...you were saying?"

"When he returned from meeting with you, he came to see me and I told him that he should take a vacation."

"And he's going?"

"He and Angela leave for Hawaii tomorrow morning."

"Lucky them."

"Would you...would you like to go on vacation with me?"

"Just tell me what I should pack, and I'll be there." He reached for her hand, allowing himself that one concession.

"We can't go now, obviously, but I've been thinking that instead of going to Peru this summer like I had planned, maybe we could go somewhere together. And with Parker...if you think he would like to come along."

"Parks would love that, and so would I."

"Where do you want to go?"

"Don't care. You pick."

"Well what about Parker? He will have a preference no doubt."

"As long as it's some place with a pool, he'll be good."

"I was thinking about Africa, Kenya specifically, because Parker loves animals and I think he would learn so much from seeing the animals he's only seen at the zoo in their natural habitat. We can stay somewhere with a pool, of course. And travel out on safari over the course of a few days."

"Seriously...Africa?"

"Is that too far away? Is it not the sort of place one travels to with a child of Parker's age?"

"No, it's not that...it's just that Parks has always wanted to go there. Wow...Africa."

"So you'll think about it."

"Don't have to. We'd love to go. I'll need to speak to Rebecca, but I think she'll be excited about the idea."

"Good. I...I was concerned that you might think I'm rushing things."

"You don't have to worry about that. Not with me."

"So you don't think it's too soon in our romantic relationship to be planning a trip overseas together."

"No. I don't. Do you?"

"I'm not sure of the etiquette...it's never been a consideration for me until now. But no, it doesn't feel rushed."

"Okay then."

He let go of her hand as Gino Romano himself cleared their plates and with a well-practised flourish delivered their entrees.

"Ah, my two favourite customers, your appetizers were good, no?"

"Superb, Gino, as always." Booth assured the restaurant owner as he stuck out his hand and greeted the man with a warm handshake.

"Ottimo, sono contento – and Doctor Brennan, you like also?"

"It was wonderful, thank you, Gino."

"Mi fa piacere. Spero che ti piace la tua pasta, è preferito di mia moglie."

"Ebbene, io sono sicuro che sarà meravigliosamente deliziosa." Brennan replied smiling back at the extremely tall but slight grey haired man.

"Lo dirle che detto così. Enjoy...enjoy..."

Booth understood that part of the conversation and he picked up his fork and speared a large shrimp which was covered in glossy tomato sauce and popped it into his mouth. He managed to supress a knowing grin as Gino reached for Brennan's hand, which she gave willingly, and placed a quick kiss there. The man was a renowned charmer, but he was harmless. Booth had met Mrs Romano a number of times, and knew for certain within just a few moments of watching Gino with her that he was still, after more than forty years, completely bessoted with her.

"I leave you now. You let me know if you need anything else. More wine perhaps...on the house."

"Thanks, Gino, but Booth's driving and I need to keep a clear head for the morning."

"Another time then. Now...eat! Eat!"

They did as they were told. And true to form, the food was fantastic and very, very filling. Brennan managed only half of her pasta and even Booth left some gnocci behind in the large white shallow bowl.

Booth swallowed a mouthful of iced water and looked at Brennan out the corner of his eye. He decided that it was time he told her that he had chosen to end his personal sessions with Sweets. The time he spent alone in Sweets' office wasn't something they ever discussed at length and Booth suspected that Brennan was unsure if she should ask him about what was said for fear of prying. Similarly, he was uncertain about whether he should tell her that, until recently, he still needed the sessions.

"I saw Sweets today."

"For one of your sessions?"

"Yeah."

"Good. You know he found a publisher - his book about us might actually find its way into print."

"He mentioned something about that. I...I told him today that I wanted to end my solo sessions with him."

"You did. May I ask why?"

"Of course you can ask why. Listen, Bones, I know I shut you out after my surgery..."

"Booth..."

"No, please let me finish, okay, Bones. We've never talked about this, not really." He took her hand in his and rubbed his thumb along the underside of her wrist.

"I shut you out. I shut everyone out. I wasn't honest about how much the surgery affected me, mentally and physically. I should have told you that I was struggling with panic attacks...God, when you found me on my kitchen floor that time; I should have been honest with you then. But I was stubborn, and scared. I didn't want you to think of me as weak...to think that I couldn't protect you...that I wouldn't be enough, that you couldn't count on me out there."

"Booth, I would never think that. You are the bravest, strongest person I know. I never feel unsafe when you're by my side. If you would have asked me, I could have assured you of that."

"But I couldn't ask, Bones. It's not something you ask. You just know it. You just know the trust is there. Like now, I know when we're investigating a case that you trust me to have your back, like I trust you have mine."

"We make a good team". She affirmed as she looked down at their entwined hands. Booth couldn't help himself; he opened her hand and brought it to his lips, placing a kiss into her palm.

"I love you, Bones, so much."

"I love you, Booth."

"Sometimes...sometimes in the months after the tumour my whole day was a dream. And night time blended into day, and it got so I didn't know what was real, what was truth. And I dreamed of you. I dreamed of you, Bones, because I wanted to be close to you, and it was the only way I knew how to do that. I needed something to hold onto. You were that person for me. You are that person."

"Typically, following the type of surgery you..."

"Bones, listen to me. I was _lost_, and there are still times that I worry I'll get lost again."

"You won't. I'll be here to find you."

"You will?" He smiled. He believed her simple pledge, because even when his faith in himself had wavered, his faith in her remained intact. After all, she had never, ever caused him to doubt her.

"Yes. I'll be here for as long as you want me to be."

"Stay forever."

"Forever isn't actually a measurement of time. It's a dramatic construct with no literal meaning, and as such..."

"Fine, then stay until our bones turn to dust."

"Why would our bones turn to dust?"

"I'm just making the point that..." This time she interrupted him. The back and forth, the banter, it never went away. And Booth knew that she relished that part of their dynamic as much as he did. It kept them on their toes, kept them alert, quick to question, and was something that was quintessentially _them_.

"With the right soil chemistry and physical properties of the burial environment, our bones may well last thousands of years - although, I accept that in time they will fossilize so that it is no longer the bone, but a mineral cast of our bones which survive."

"Okay, so be with me until we become fossilized skeletons."

"You know I can only promise to be with you for as long as we live."

"And you would do that."

"Yes. I will do that."

"I love you. God, it feels so _good_ to tell you that out loud. You have no idea how many times I told you that I loved you in my dreams, when they were all I had."

Booth felt the burden of further truths weighing heavily on his chest and he wanted to keep talking, to tell her of all that was in his heart until his throat was dry and hoarse, but, he soon realised, Brennan had other ideas. She took $100.00 from her purse and placed in on the table, more than enough to cover the meal and tip. Then, without saying a word, she stood and offered him her hand. Booth reached out and captured her much smaller hand in his own and let her lead him back through the busy restaurant and outside into the rain-soaked night.

They ran to the rear of the restaurant. They each held their coats over their heads, trying in vain to keep the rain out. Booth rushed around to the passenger-side door of his SUV and opened it for her. He waited for her to climb in. As he went to close the door behind her, she suddenly reached for him, and managing to grab a handful of his white shirt and colourful tie, she pulled him half into the car. Her mouth sought his, and he kissed her back, hard. Booth pushed his chest against hers, flattening her against the seat and took charge of their kiss, which he registered with satisfaction, elicited the most delicious moan from her. He wondered if Gino had CCTV cameras trained on the parking area out back, because honestly, he doubted they'd make it home before they ripped each other's clothes off.

Then she started doing that thing with her tongue and that's when he seriously considered just dragging her into the back of the SUV and giving into what they both so badly wanted.

"Jesus, Bones, I want you now."

"I want you, too. Do you, ah...oh...Booth, God...ah...do you, do you think there are cameras in operation out here?"

"I was just wondering the same thing." He whispered in her ear before he tilted her head back and trailed a line of expert kisses along her jaw and then down the length of her elegant neck.

"Do we dare take the risk?" She questioned breathlessly.

"It's not the risk that's concerning me, but the lack of space."

"I agree." She said pausing briefly to kiss him again. "The insufficient space will limit what we can do. And I want to do everything."

Brennan was left holding onto air, as Booth pulled away and slammed the passenger door shut. He raced round and climbed into the driver's seat.

"Seatbelt, Bones." He reminded her, his jaw tense, as his quickly secured his own.

Brennan kept quiet as he manpowered out of the small parking lot and merged them into the flow of traffic. Her chest felt tight, and she could only reason that it was because of the way she was feeling at that moment. She generally didn't suffer from indigestion, and she didn't have a heart condition (which may account for the tightness she felt), at least that she knew about. Was her heart capable of more than muscular function? No. She knew that it wasn't possible. Booth might believe that, but she knew better.

But still... His attention was directed on the road ahead, and she knew he was speeding. And not just a little bit. The thought that he wanted to make love to her so badly that he was breaking the law, the law he had sworn to uphold, filled her with excitement. And love. There was always love.

She reached across and placed her hand on his, all too aware that the tightness in her chest increased when his brown eyes met hers.

"Yeah, Bones?" He said softly, taking his eyes off her for a brief moment to scan the road. She kept her eyes trained on his handsome face, and when he looked at her again and she was sure she had his attention, she told him.

"I dreamed of you, too."

_**AN: So that's it, people. Sincerely, thanks for alerting, 'favouriting' (sp?) and reviewing. I really appreciate you taking time to read my not-so-little story.**_

_**I'll leave you with this wonderful quote (thanks to 'MiseryMaker' for bringing it to my attention).**_

"_**If a little dreaming is dangerous, the cure for it is not to dream less, but to dream more, to dream all the time." – Marcel Proust.**_

_**BA  
xxx**_


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